“Human Sacrifices” Is a Latine and Feminist Gothic Must-Read
Author’s Note: The following review contains mentions of sexual assault.
Gothic is the instrument by which Latine authors have historically been able to explore coloniality, migration, violence, and other horrors of Latin American society. Human Sacrifices, a short story collection of pure disturbance and grittiness, executes this with sheer precision. And it is a book that will haunt me for years to come.
Originally written in Spanish by María Fernanda Ampuero and published in 2021 by Páginas de Espuma, Human Sacrifices was translated into English by Frances Riddle for a 2023 re-release published by Feminist Press. The stories in the book are told from those existing outside the margins, those who perpetrate harm onto others because they’ve either been dehumanized or are part of larger forces at play, and those who don’t fit neatly into a binary. These characters are struggling to understand girlhood and the multi-layered relationships they find themselves in. A good number of them are nameless, which serves to amplify the horror: we can easily imagine them as anybody we personally know in our lives
I do want to stress that this book is not for everyone. Sexual assault is a major theme that threads a lot of the stories together. A couple of stories include pedophilia and incest. These are transgressions that are common in Gothic fiction and date back to 18th-century literature. However, many of the European men who wrote Gothic stories of sexual violence wrote for shock value, or associated immorality with characters who were racialized or queer-coded. Also, a lot of those stories, upheld in academia, generally suck. Ampuero’s depiction of sexual violence critiques the machismo culture of Ecuador, a culture that promotes hypermasculinity and violence against women. Through these stories, Ampuero is giving a voice to women and survivors of sexual assault. I won’t write about every single story in the collection, but I will highlight a few that left the strongest impression on me.
“Biography” follows an undocumented woman searching for work and finding herself being held hostage by two men. Throughout the story, the words “see me” repeat themselves. She’s demanding her presence, daring readers to truly see the harsh realities of immigrant women. She is forcing us into our vision even when it is hard to look. “See me” is also used as a cry for help, a last resort despite being doomed by the narrative (or so it seems).
Much of the writing is very tongue-in-cheek, and “Believers” is the best example of that. The Believers are missionaries that travel to poor countries and use religion to save people from their own destruction. They’re white saviors, blonde like “baby Jesus”. In film, “men who looked like them always saved the planet”. Why wouldn’t the narrator and her friend, Marisol, be obsessed with them? The Believers are all they know; they haven’t been allowed to dream beyond them, even when red flags are apparent to the readers. Merely thinking of an alternative is inconceivable to these characters. Also, there is a quiet queer love story that develops between the narrator and Marisol. It’s not the most important part of the story, and neither character has the time or language to really describe what’s going on between them. Nevertheless, it’s not a coincidence that a queer relationship is the healthiest relationship we see in a book filled with abusive, heteropatriarchal relationships.
Men are the predators for most of Human Sacrifices, but “Chosen” subverts that. Girls marked as ugly are front and center. Because they’re ugly, they’re free — but they don’t want that. They want the superficial boy-girl parties. They want cishet male validation. All they do is want, and want, and want; their ugliness and beauty conventions determined by heteropatriarchy have reduced them to monstrous, needy beings. It’s not just their desire to be desired that drives them, but also sexual frustration. The ugly girls have a carnal horniness that turns lethal, and folks know that one of my kryptonites in literature is horny women. The final passage of the story is imprinted into my brain. The prose, unrelenting and indulgent, is some of the best writing I’ve read this year yet:
“After dancing we sat on their graves, each of us with a perfect boy whispering his dreams to us, giggling like idiots, asking for kisses through fluttered lashes. The kisses came and the madness followed, desire crashing like violent waves against our backs. The dawn found us naked, mounted atop the erect sexes of our lovers, galloping like ferocious jockeys, plunging headlong into the world, ready to destroy it.”
“Sister” is my personal favorite story of the collection. One cousin is dark-skinned, fat, and a product of “a stain on the bloodline.” Another cousin is skinny, popular, and embodies the family’s “cleaner race.” One wants to transform into the other desperately for separate reasons. Both of them pick Mariela, a new girl in their school who’s more than what she lets on, to be a spectacle of their own meanness. Oh, and there’s an Ouija board — who doesn’t love that horror trope? This story’s my favorite because of how it executes a raw portrayal of girlhood in less than 10 pages. The girls are bitches. The girls are so damn self-loathing because, no matter what, they are never enough: “Fat girls live on lies. Starving girls live on helplessness. Lonely girls live on pain. Girls always, always, always feed off the abyss”. But, despite it all, the girls have no one but each other because of how the world sets them up to fail. Additionally, the story proves another reason why I love this book: Ampuero knows how to set a scene. Certain locations are described as desolate and ravished, others carry a smell that literally assaults the nostrils. Ampuero’s settings are their own monsters.
Human Sacrifices is a Latine and feminist gothic must-read. Her stories are bleak, but fascinating examinations of girlhood, machismo, corruption, and sexual violence. They’re not washed down, easily digestible stories that feign radical politics. I’m excited about Ampuero’s other works, and I would love to see a full-length novel written by her one day.
Human Sacrifices by María Fernanda Ampuero comes out tomorrow, May 16.
Autism Is Not a Trend, but There Are Problems With How It’s Discussed Online
Feature illustration by solarseven via Getty Images
Is it cool to be autistic now?
That seems to be a question a lot of folks are exploring in online discourse, particularly on TikTok. And, honestly, a part of me gets why it has become a “hot topic”. Now more than ever, autistic people are visible on mainstream platforms, and their discussions of being neurodivergent have shattered preconceived notions on what autism is. Quinni, the autistic queer teen of the 2022 reboot of Heartbreak High, is the show’s breakout character. Chloé Hayden, the actress and disability rights activist who plays her, has been making waves by advocating for representation of autistic people. While some of the discourse I’ve seen is innocuous at best, most of it is harmful, even dangerous.
I first want to stress that no health matter is a trend, nor should anything health-related should ever be described as a trend. Sure, certain things get more exposure during certain times, and the exposure of those things reflect wider cultural concerns and processes of their respective eras. I’m definitely no expert, but I think the increased visibility of autistic people reveals how, generally, the pandemic has caused people to care less about how they’re perceived, how social norms are finally being reckoned with after shutdown has forced us to rethink how we move in the world. Even so, health conditions and disabilities are more than how many views a 20-second clip gets or the number of comments under a post. It’s real-life shit that can affect the core of who somebody is. To call autism a trend is disrespectful and downright ableist.
Honestly, as I type this, I’m scared shitless for when this gets published. I’ve always avoided internet debates; they stress the hell out of me, and I prefer to just observe and think to myself. Moreover, I’m still struggling to accept being autistic myself. My parents knew I was autistic since I was a child, and they were encouraged to seek an evaluation for me by doctors. I had all the signs: delayed and limited speech, lack of facial expressions or interest in playing with others, repetitive movements like rocking back and forth and shaking my head side to side, meltdowns, you name it. Ultimately, my parents never took me to a neuropsychologist because they didn’t want me in special education or be “different”. They wanted to raise me as if I was “just like everyone else”.
But I’ve always felt different. I never knew why. It was incredibly fucking isolating.
Long story short, my therapist clocked my autism from the very moment we met. It took me a year to book an appointment for an evaluation. On October 20, 2022, I was officially diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder. I’ve written about it before on here, and I’ve been able to do so because I’ve been able to learn how to separate my “writer” persona from my true self. I can pour my heart out online, but also maintain some level of distance. Of course, they still bleed into each other and inform one another. And I still experience soul-crushing anxiety when an article of mine is published because I am being perceived.
In “the real world”, I rarely talk about being autistic. Not at work, not in grad school. I barely talk about it with family and my only two real friends. My partner is the one I’m most comfortable sharing my autism with, but even that’s hard sometimes. Letting go years of shame is hard. Most of the time, I’d rather be invisible and unknown. April is Autism Acceptance Month, and now more than ever these thoughts weigh heavy on my mind. Visibility is important, but it puts us at risk in a world that is not built for neurodivergent people. Even though an entire month is dedicated to honor autistic people, neurotypical voices still dominate the conversation because they believe that we can’t speak about our own experiences.
Autism isn’t new, but the way it’s perceived and researched is constantly changing. The concept of it was coined in 1911 by German psychiatrist Eugen Bleuler to describe a symptom of schizophrenia. Those with the “most severe” cases of the mental illness embodied an “autistic thinking” in which they had the infantile desire to avoid reality and indulge in fantasy and hallucinations. Bleuler credits Sigmund Freud and Havelock Ellis for the term’s etymological roots, both of whom employed the concept of “autoeroticism” in 1905 to explain hallucinations joined with self-soothing that preceded an infant’s interactions with their environment. This particularly sheds light on how, to this day, autistic adults are relentlessly infantilized.
Leo Kanner, Austrian-American psychiatrist and physician, is credited as the first person to acknowledge autism as we (somewhat) know it today. In 1943, he examined children, mostly boys and all of them white, with “extraordinary intelligence”, delayed speech, and an inclination towards routine. Kanner published an article claiming that autism was its own psychiatric disorder, and this eventually made its way to the second edition of the DSM. Bruno Bettelheim, Austrian psychologist, expands on this understanding and adds that autism was caused by unemotional mothers.
It won’t be until the 1960s to 70s when autism would be considered a developmental disorder with biological roots. However, the DSM III noted that an autism diagnosis can only happen if there is a “lack of interest in people, severe impairments in communication and bizarre responses to the environment, all developing in the first 30 months of life”. The revised version of the third edition, released in 1987, began to recognize autism as a spectrum even though it doesn’t actually use the term; it also dropped the “first 30 months” requirement. DSM IV breaks autism off into sections like Aspergers Syndrome and Childhood Disintegrative Disorder, while DSM V collapses all of these categories into a single label: autism spectrum disorder.
For the sake of getting to the point, I’ll stop here. The history of autism research and diagnosis is so expansive and nuanced, they can be the focal points of a series of articles. But it’s important to consider because, again, we’re continuously rethinking and re-evaluating what it means to navigate the world autistic, what it means to be born autistic. It’s also important because you can not only trace the dehumanization of autistic people as a whole, but also gender and race bias in autism studies and assessments. White children and cis boys are among the most diagnosed, with scientists claiming that it’s due to genetics. Autism in women and BIPOC are drastically underdiagnosed, or worse, misdiagnosed. When I was hospitalized for nearly killing myself at 15 years old, I was told by a white nurse that I’m a “bomb” that can “explode at any moment”. A white doctor diagnosed me with clinical depression and generalized anxiety disorder. Autism in Latinas is considered, to this day, “rare”. Now I realize that my depression and anxiety are real, but they stem from my autism.
Things are slowly improving. More women are getting diagnosed with autism than ever before, which means more autistic people are getting the help they need. Also, with increased awareness, people are now able to self-diagnose and seek the resources they need if a formal diagnosis is inaccessible to them. (Side note about self-diagnosis: our healthcare system sucks ass. Self-diagnosis is literally the only option for so many folks. I am privileged to have a formal diagnosis because of my father’s insurance and access to resources in New York City. Don’t be an asshole about people who self-diagnose.)
Why is all this important? According to some research, more than 66% of autistic adults are unemployed. Demographics reveal that 9 out of 10 autistic women have been sexually assaulted. Autistic people frequently have co-occurring physical and mental illnesses/disabilities; for example, 25% to 40% of autistic people experience epilepsy or seizures. 56% of autistic children in the U.S. live in low-income households. Finally, autistic people are 2.5 times more likely to have an early death.
And people still want to call it just a trend.
Intrinsically, there is nothing wrong with autistic visibility. If anything, there should be more of it. I want a world where autistic people can freely take up space, space that is free from ableism and accommodates us. It is the world that disables us, defines what types of bodies and thought processes are privileged, and makes us “other”.
We need to be more precise. Issues lie in white people wanting to deflect their whiteness by exploiting other marginalized identities and the sensationalization of mental illnesses and neurodivergent conditions that has flourished on social media for far too long.
On TikTok, @fazolibreadsticks eloquently illustrates that “whiteness gives us access to everything but oppression. That’s the only thing we can’t colonize. So, what do we do? We turn oppression into social currency.” They comment on the obsession with “uniqueness” the internet has; white people get “extra points” for belonging to identities that are marginalized like queer, trans, neurodivergent. A lot of white folks are blind to their white privilege and will do everything in their power to remove themselves from it. Obviously, any disabled person can be oppressed regardless of their race. However, because these identities are being claimed, they are being linked to radical politics. It’s as if white people become exempt from critique or are no longer privileged once they bring up what makes them “different”. They make themselves “less white”.
The worst part of it all is that, in my experience, it’s often the same “white neurodivergent LGBTQ+” individuals that will be the most performative or make spaces unsafe for BIPOC. I once flirted with a white girl whose mental illness was the subject of 90% of her online presence — she called me “exotic” and “spicy” upon learning my Puerto Rican ethnicity. There are countless stories in which this specific group of people will exacerbate their othered identities to casually be racist. Their obsession with labels and being discriminated against is a colonial desire to center whiteness.
Colonial power over difference and oppression coincides with how psychological and neuropsychological disorders become social media aesthetics. During the prime years of Tumblr, it was cool to be a “sad girl”. There were blogs dedicated to fetishistic images of self-harm. Pro-eating disorder posts utilizing “thinspiration” hashtags would get thousands of likes and reblogs. Gifs from Skins or Lana del Rey music videos were pillars of online circles. It was horrifying; young people with easy internet access absorbed these images and internalized them. Also, the meaning of what it meant to have a mental illness became diluted.
Similar things are happening on social media today concerning autism, particularly on TikTok. Autism has become memeified — there are a plethora of TikToks joking about having “autizzy” or a “touch of the ’tism”. Traits of autism like struggles with socializing or experiencing overstimulation are associated with cute or quirky aesthetics. There are videos of neurotypical people saying they’re “so autistic” for acting a certain way or that everyone’s “a little autistic”. Autistic girls are the new manic pixie dream girls. Altogether, medical misinformation can easily spread, and numerous young people are exposed to autism solely through these bite-sized clips or Instagram stories.
If you scroll through hashtags on TikTok like #actuallyautistic, you’d see mostly white content creators.
Accounts by autistic people that show the realistic intricacies of autism, and are actually funny, exist. @kaelynn_vp is an autistic therapist and advocate, who debunks myths about autism and was just recently the keynote speaker at a Gala for Project Hope Foundation, the largest autism-service provider in South Carolina. @asapskrr420 is a Black and trans autistic content creator, often sharing his special interests like Adventure Time and using hilarious audio clips to make jokes for autistic folks. @saranne_wrap is a Puerto Rican autistic TikToker who draws you in with her story time and get-ready-with-me videos. All of these creators are just a few of many.
I am still coming to terms with who I am. My therapist reassures me that this is okay. Despite toxic positivity and love yourself mantras on social media, I don’t have to be totally okay with myself right now. One thing that inspires me is seeing how many brave autistic people talk publicly about their traits, favorite stims, hyperfixations, things that cause them to shut down, and strengths that come from their autism.
Say it with me: Autism is not a trend. There’s this popular saying I’ve seen circulated in autistic circles: if you meet one autistic person, you’ve only met one autistic person. Not every autistic person has the same traits; embodiments of autism vary and intersect with race, gender, class, and more. Autism, however, is being exploited by certain white folks wanting to center themselves in oppression and is being subjected to sensationalization. The internet’s a fucked up place. That won’t change.
There are things we can change and work towards. We need to give adequate resources to autistics so we can not just survive, but succeed. We need to have autistics lead autism studies and conversations. We need to empower the voices of different autistic groups and people.
If you’re complaining that “everyone’s autistic now” and it’s just the latest internet trend, you’re missing the mark. What you’re probably really saying is that you don’t want to see autistic people on your screen because it bursts the bubble that societal values have cultivated. What you’re actually saying is that you refuse to see autistic people in a complex, multi-faceted way because it doesn’t align with the monolithic, stereotypical image you have in your mind. Autism has always been around, and it will continue to be around even as new research and ideas on it come to light. For now, I just want every autistic person, despite everything, to have a person they can rely on, give themselves grace, and be safe.
Explore NYC’s Underground Queer and Trans Rave Scene in “Raving”
Let Mckenzie Wark take you raving.
Full disclosure: I’ve never actually been to a rave. Honestly, I have no intention of ever going to one — it has always seemed far too overstimulating for me. But I’ve always admired the ways in which people describe raves, how transcending they sound. One time, this punk classmate of mine in my undergraduate Expository Writing class described how he felt his cells and tendons enmesh with the sonics, sweaty bodies, and vibrant lights of a rave he went to. That formed my ideas on raving. Wark takes it to a whole new level.
Raving is a part of a series of books, Practices, edited by Margret Grebowicz for Duke University Press. The series showcases “those who engage in pursuits out of sheer love and fascination.” From the way it’s structured alone, you can tell Wark poured her soul into this work. Her writing is phantasmagoric, vivid, and sharp. There are endnotes, a bibliography, and glossary. It ebbs and flows through different genres; it refuses to be placed in a single category. In the first chapter, Wark explains that her writing is layered with autofiction and autotheory. She never tells you whether something is completely made up or real, if the things happening in the book are occurrences she’s found herself in or merely stories told to her. Wark challenges reality, conjures something into reality, exposes reality in all its harshness — all at once. Moreover, raving is contextualized in queer theory, situationism, epistemologies, and emerging concepts birthed from the scene.
The concepts dissected in Raving are a bit of a mindfuck and may require you to take time in order to understand them. A whole separate Autostraddle post can be dedicated to going in-depth on all the definitions Wark introduces. However, you’re not supposed to make complete sense of them or explain the concepts with reason. They’re meant to be felt, experienced, danced, and fucked through. Xeno-euphoria is an amalgamation of varying bodily wellness forms, only achievable through external agents. But simultaneously, there’s this strangeness that’s welcomed. Time is also endured differently; it becomes “sideways.” No linearity, no cyclical motion. It could be said that time finds its transness. Wark is able to embrace her transness and escape the challenges it brings through this state of being (or not being):
This is the need: that for a few beats, or thousands, I’m not. Not here. Not anywhere. In the place where there’s usually me, with all her anxieties and racing-racing thoughts and second-second guesses, there’s just happy flesh, pumping and swaying, tethered only by gravity. A trans body homing in on its own estrangement, losing itself, in these alien beats, among this xeno-flesh. Trans—the crossing—toward—the stranger’s gift—xeno. This body that doesn’t dance very well but loves to be gone anyway in the sway. Or so I imagine. I’m not there to notice. It’s what I feel, or rather felt, happen. After it’s gone.”
Enlustment is when the mind melts into the body, and there’s this primitiveness that breaks down the Anthropocene. This is both a result of raving and component of what makes a rave. The body overflows, the body travels outward and presses into another body. It becomes rhythm. Every invisible barrier imposed on the body is broken down, and it gets fucked by everything in sight. It’s glorious and messy and wonderful. Wark forces readers to examine how their own bodies operate in the world and what radical, infinite possibilities they hold.
Something I appreciate about Wark is her effort to hold herself accountable and criticize the culture she’s participating in. Readers are constantly reminded that so much of what makes white-dominated raves comes from Black culture. Techno, the main genre of music Wark walks us through, is Black music; it is “dreaming of a future beyond the structural failings of a post-industrial collapse in the late twentieth century.” It’s been colonized, repackaged, and totally removed from its origins. Also, rave culture is noted to contribute to gentrification. The book is set in Brooklyn, the New York City borough notorious for being a hotpot of gentrifiers. White ravers want to be in close proximity to rave venues, raise the rent of buildings close to them, and displace working-class BIPOC. Ultimately, “the white language of queerness became a dialect of gentrification.” Wark doesn’t briefly discuss race in a single paragraph of one chapter for the sake of not getting cancelled or obtaining points for being woke; she continuously reminds us of her whiteness and the white spaces fashioned from Black creatives she is navigating.
Another aspect of the book I loved was the small moments of inter-community care in it. During fluid bodily movements alongside harsh beats, Wark is still conscience of checking in with her friends, stopping to ensure one is hydrated and the other isn’t strung out on shrooms or ketamine. They go to the rave together and leave it together. They lift each other up during rejection. It’s not at the front of the book, and it’s something that can be found in a lot of queer and trans content. Still, the found family cultivated in this scene is magical, and clearly a key to liberation.
Wark stresses that raves are not “queer utopia.” Problematic shit happens in inner-circles, and there are outsiders that make it less of a safe space than desired. Nevertheless, raving has the potential to be one of the things that brings us there; the dancefloor is a portal. Wark opened my eyes to a brand new world, and I’m sure she can open yours too.
The NYC TikTok Influencer to Gentrification Pipeline
Apparently, it’s a flex to be a New York City native now. But the concept of that is largely skewed.
I was once speaking with someone originally from suburban New Jersey who recently moved to NYC. They asked me if I’ve ever been to Blank Street Coffee or knew how to navigate the streets of SoHo and pinpoint the best places to shop. I’ve never been to Blank Street Coffee, and I don’t care to ever spend money on an overpriced drink that’s barely a small but is arguably worth the price because it’s aesthetically pleasing for Instagram. Nor do I ever find myself in SoHo. I can probably count with a few fingers on one hand how many times I’ve been there. I simply answered “no.” I didn’t want to bother giving an elaborate response about being from The Bronx and how unlikely it is for me to venture that far. The response I got left me speechless.
“How are you even a New Yorker? I’m probably more of one than you are.”
I’ve never been good at thinking on the spot — confrontation isn’t my forte. I was left baffled and didn’t give the comeback I should’ve. I’ve realized that person is an extension of a larger issue. And that issue is taking place on TikTok. It makes it cool to be a NYC native, but only if you’re from a certain version of NYC that’s curated from white colonial imaginations.
TikTok skyrocketed to popularity alongside the rise of the COVID-19 pandemic. In June 2020 alone, the app was downloaded 87 million times, with 7.5 million of those downloads coming from the United States. NYC, on the other hand, started to crumble. Records reveal that there was an unemployment rate of 19.8% of NYC citizens in July 2020, with The Bronx making up 24.9% of that group. More than 5,000 businesses in Manhattan alone closed as a result of the pandemic.
If there’s anything I know about New Yorkers, those of us who have been here for all or most of our lives and lived in places that so many rich white people looked down upon before gentrifying our territories, I know that we’re incredibly resilient. When the world all around us was ending, we pulled each other up. We hustled, grinded, and did what we had to do to survive. That’s how we have always been.
Gentrification has devastated poor, Black, and brown communities in NYC for years, but the pandemic has exacerbated the predicament. Initially, the pandemic caused an increase in “white flight”, the phenomenon of white people moving out of urban cities and into the suburbs. White affluent folks with white-collar jobs had the privilege to work from home, so they up and left. Essential workers, who are disproportionately BIPOC, were left in the city and forced to pick up the pieces. The decrease in NYC’s white population accelerated vacancy rates, something renters and buyers took advantage of. This seemingly enabled the same, mobile people who left to return, and an influx of those not from NYC arrived as well. Brooklyn and Queens especially experienced a surge of newcomers seizing the record-low rent and mortgage rates. With this growth in people moving into the city, apartments became in high demand and, thus, rent raised once again, fucking with communities who never fully recovered from the economic damage the pandemic inflicted.
There’s this popular joke made by New Yorkers that the rent’s too damn high. But rent really is too damn high! It’s nearly impossible to live in the city now without roommates or a 6-figure job. Rent for a studio apartment averages over $4,000 a month. Mass groups of BIPOC who are native and have a long family history of being in the city are being displaced and forced out of their homes.
Now, there are trendy “day-in-the-life” vlogs of stylish transplants waking up in their fancy Bed-Stuy or East Harlem apartments, chronicling their adventures of finding vintage pieces at thrift stores or casually dropping a couple hundred on the hottest restaurant that everyone appears to be talking about. They make the city their playground. The NYU gentrifiers — a large percentage of them arguably nepo babies — have completely conquered Washington Square Park and rarely venture beyond the Lower East Side. Other transplants are uploading videos of cheap places to do activities or grab a quick meal. The prices of these places, more than not, always increase because of the advertisement, further leaving financially struggling folks with little to nothing. In the comment section of these bite-sized videos, I see countless of people desperate to live in the city someday and live just like the influencers they see on their screens.
The cognitive dissonance these TikToks create is alarming. Interviewed by Emily Lang for Gothamist, 21-year-old Thalia Lloyd-Frontani stresses, “We’re not $8 coffees. We’re not sunny days. We’re not in Manhattan everyday, that’s for sure”. When I think of the New York City I grew up in, I think of old men playing dominoes on the street, getting a bacon, egg, and cheese on a roll and an Arizona at a bodega before school, the fire hydrant busted open during summer so kids can play, and sweet sounds of reggaeton or salsa blasting throughout the streets. You wouldn’t find this on your FYP, but there are people, like me, who live to tell the tale of the multi-layered and complicated city of New York.
TikTok isn’t the first platform to glamorize the city. From Sex and the City to Friends, New York City has long been its own character in white television and film. In these depictions, the city is the “American Dream” itself. Whiteness is intrinsic to the American Dream; whiteness is the standard of success. The city serves as a backdrop to characters’ storylines, sometimes amplifying character struggles and development, and other times deeply intertwining with the plot of the series. Nearly all of these shows highlight characters who are chasing after their dreams and trying to “make it” in a big city filled with possibilities. With enough persistence, things fall into place and these characters do fulfill their desires. Not just that, they also find themselves on journeys and exciting events that only NYC can provide. It’s a fairytale Hollywood eats up. It speaks to the hegemonic notion on what America is and inserts this yearning for the NYC experience into our heads.
Though the city is racially diverse, with statistics showing that the population is 23.4% Black, 28.9% Hispanic or Latino, and 14.2% Asian, numerous shows located in NYC are overwhelmingly white. The only TV show I’ve ever seen where the representation of NYC closely resembled the NYC I was brought up in was Pose. It felt like a breath of fresh air to finally see a mainstream show have tell NYC stories with Black and brown characters at the forefront. Characters like Pray Tell and Angel were defining the culture and pushing the bounds of creativity; every day I see up and coming rappers and street artists making art and creating a brand-new standard. Blanca’s apartment was in The Bronx, and my mother often says it was reminiscent of where she lived in the South Bronx during the 80s and 90s.
Though I’m critiquing the idealization of NYC, it also feels inevitable to me. I once tutored a girl who wrote an essay on how immigrating from Ecuador to Queens changed her life. Dismissing my hatred for the assignment (life-changing stories that have a chokehold on educators), I read how a big reason why she wanted to move to the city was because of Gossip Girl.
She described how fascinated she was by the streets and tall buildings. I’m sure her neighborhood is far from the Upper East Side where Blair and Serena caused havoc, but it made me realize how privileged I am to have been raised in New York. My grandparents on both sides of the family immigrated to NYC from Puerto Rico to foster a better life for themselves and future generations. NYC has historically been a safe haven for immigrants, a chance to start anew. Moreover, NYC wouldn’t be as we know it today without immigrants.
However, NYC’s “sanctuary” title has been rapidly upended. Immigrants aren’t receiving basic living necessities like fresh clothes, sanitary products, and nourishing food. People are sleeping in tents in the cold without sufficient heating or blankets. Anti-immigration rhetoric flourishes in media and pushes this idea that the quantity of immigrants is the problem. We have more than enough space for immigrants. The issue lies in how the government uses space and how it primarily accommodates the wealthy, white, and American-born.
Conflicting visions of NYC are nothing new. In The Guardian, Emma Brockes articulates that:
“There are two narratives of 70s and 80s New York, both resurging and in direct competition. The first is of a crimeridden hellscape, the New York of the Central Park jogger and a mythological place in which no side street is safe and people live in the tunnels of the subway. It’s the New York of Midnight Cowboy, a sordid landscape cherished in the minds of those who lived through it both as war story and a marker of how far the city has come.
The second popular version is that of the poets’ New York, the city of Eileen Myles, the Chelsea Hotel, the Poetry Project at St Mark’s Church and the cheap rent of loft space in Soho before Apple moved in. It’s a rendition of the city which, as the value of commercial real estate collapses and affluent families move out, other New Yorkers are anticipating the return of with open arms.”
Multiple realities of New York have always existed. I started developing class and racial consciousness on the MTA subway; as my child-self would reach downtown, more passengers would enter the train with whiter skin and clothes that looked “better” or “cleaner” to my young mind. It was hard to conceptualize that Times Square and Fordham Road were technically in the same city. The difference was so striking. I mentioned earlier that my mom was raised in the South Bronx. She’s told me stories ranging from nailing dances to Biz Markie and hitting a ball to the wall with friends to witnessing a friend getting shot on the block and neighbors drugged up on cocaine. These were also different from the Rockefeller tree and Central Park I saw on television screens.
And I’ve come to realize how culturally New York means to different groups of people — there’s Jewish New York, Puerto Rican New York, Mexican New York, Italian New York, Jamaican New York, Chinese New York, African American New York. There’s queer and trans New York! The list goes on. And these versions of New York bleed into each other in food establishments, subway carts, alleyways; a hotpot of multiculturalism. These tone-deaf realities of New York City as a monolithic utopia of art gallery events and hipster coffee shops diminish what makes NYC great in the first place.
In “The Death of a Once Great City”, Kevin Baker argues that NYC is “in imminent danger of becoming something it has never been before: unremarkable. It is approaching a state where it is no longer a significant cultural entity but the world’s largest gated community, with a few cupcake shops here and there. For the first time in its history, New York is, well, boring”. Further, he explores how NYC is becoming commercialized, is catering more to non-natives, and making investments only benefitting the elite. The Central Park Zoo used to be free to visit; now it’s $18 for adults and $13 for children. The current Yankee Stadium costed $2.3 billion to build, with more than 9,000 public seats removed to make room for luxury suites. Hudson Yard, composed of 18 million square feet of high-end corporations, stands while homelessness worsens in the city.
Community is dying. Renovated and upscale housing options in the city offer playrooms for kids, gyms, art spaces, and more. In Baker’s words, a “private outdoor space” is the true goal. While there was once the allure of exploring the city, white rich folks are now doing all they can to avoid crossing paths with the working-class, the Black and brown. It wouldn’t be a stretch to call it segregation.
There are still roach-infested apartments, heaters that don’t work and leave residents freezing at night, and people barely making enough to survive. But leaders care about nothing more than collecting bread in their pockets. NYC TikTok influencers are tools of their capitalist schemes.
Gradually, I see my own neighborhood changing.
There used to be this beloved, local-owned diner where members of my community used to love to meet and eat some good food at. It had a home-y vibe and was around for nearly five decades. The owners got priced out in July 2022 and had to permanently close. Around the same area, Starbucks and Chipotle opened, and there is construction currently happening for a Panda Express. My local supermarket, raising their prices just like every other damn store, has always had a large number of groceries imported from the Dominican Republic or Mexico. Now, they’re increasingly including more American items in their stock. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good Chick-fil-A sauce, but I was stunned when I saw it in aisle 4 just a few days ago while going on a compra.
In a way, NYC is already nothing more than an empty shell of its former self. A lot of it is unrecognizable. And that utterly frightens me.
Practical Magic: How to Take a Decolonial Approach to Educating
Education is one of the most oppressive tools employed by the settler colonial society that is the United States. The information we are fed as students is purposefully crafted to support the white supremacist notion that white people are the sole or most important thinkers, operators, and history makers. History, especially, is fashioned in a way that posits Western empires at the center of the universe and glorifies violent colonial processes. Given that schools are mostly structured as hierarchical, teachers easily become oppressors to youth, stripping them of autonomy and self-actualization. Educational resources are distributed unevenly and further disadvantage poor and BIPOC communities.
As someone who has been a reading comprehension and literacy educator for middle schoolers, and writing tutor for undergraduate students, I recognize that I am navigating a position of privilege. I’ve been given the capability to perpetuate harm towards students. But I’m not with colonial white supremacist bullshit, so I ensure that I am doing all I can to actively reduce the harm orchestrated by systems of oppression and work toward building a world in which the model for education is holistic, liberating, and guarantees that each student is valued and given the tools they need to succeed.
Before I continue, I want to stress that colonial structures can never be fully decolonized as long as they are standing. No matter how transformative or radical our praxis may be, we are still working in foundations that were created with oppressive intentions and constructed on stolen land. Ultimately, we will never be free until we give land back, sovereign power is restored to Indigenous peoples, and a new foundation is built.
However, does that mean we should give up our efforts in making the world a better place? Fuck no. We all have a responsibility to lift each other up and lead with care.
Give Students More Control Over Their Education
Youth often go to school without a choice, learning things they never chose to learn. While of course there are requirements set by forces beyond our control of what should be in the curriculum and how it should be delivered, we should ask students questions that will grant them more control over how they learn. Not only will they have more mobility, but they are also more likely to be engaged in learning than if they were simply fed information they do not care about. Ask them if there are any topics that particularly pique their interests, what their desired outcomes are after learning the materials.
I had students who loved graphic novels, and I allowed them to choose which graphic novels they would like to read. I had one student who loved games, so I created games that incorporated characters, plot points, literary techniques, and more. Another student wanted to create an artistic piece that reflected the book we read as a final project, so I let them and encouraged their imagination to run wild.
Have Your Students Hold You Accountable
With every student I encounter, I’ve always told them that if I’m doing something they don’t agree with or like for whatever reason, they should challenge me. I first learned this in my Feminist Theory class during undergrad. On the first day, with the class situated in seats that were placed in a circle so we can all face each other, the professor made us create a list of expectations we had for her. A few things on the list included her to never raise her voice at us, give us grace if an assignment can’t be turned in on time no matter what reason it is, and to not let her personal life have a negative impact on her teaching.
Accountability can look different in many ways. Maybe you and your students can have weekly check-ins where you give students the space to share what they think is working or may not be working. Maybe you all can create a chart that lays out what expectations you have for each other. The most important thing is to make sure that each voice is heard.
Include Materials by Marginalized Groups
When I reminisce on how I was a Latine child from The Bronx, attending schools with mainly other Latine and/or Black kids, I grow sad over the fact that most of what we read were by white authors and had white characters. These characters were also from suburban neighborhoods that were foreign to us as people from an urban community. It makes sense to me now why students would rebel and dismiss these books. There were no characters that looked like us, nor were there characters that shared our experiences. When I worked in a public middle school with a Black and brown student population, one group of 7th and 8th graders that I educated chose to read Jacqueline Woodson’s Brown Girl Dreaming. They loved it. One girl in particular often shared how seen she felt by the book. To further drive home the book’s theme of Black female empowerment, I had students watch Black is King, directed by the one and only Beyoncé.
It goes without saying that representation is vital and lifesaving. But even if you have a classroom of mainly white students, it is critical to explore the diversity of being. We gain a better, more complex insight into the world when we hear voices that are not just from people like us. When we showcase voices from different walks of life, we teach students that each voice matters.
Allow Yourself to Learn
Learning doesn’t magically end once you reach adulthood. The idea that you can no longer be taught anything, and you’ve reached a superior stage in which you’re finally separate from young people who are still learning, is ageist. As human beings, we are constantly evolving and becoming something entirely new as each day passes. Just because educators are primarily doing the teaching in the classroom, that doesn’t mean educators can learn from students. From students, I’ve personally learned the importance of asking questions. Moreover, I just love learning about students’ lives in general. It brings me joy to hear about one student’s special interest in Sonic the Hedgehog or another student’s family trip to the Dominican Republic. Not only does it build empathy and compassion within me, but it also gives me better direction on how to go about tutoring and educating based on specific personalities and learning needs.
You should also consider learning from other resources. For me personally, I like to learn from books and implement ideas that I find to be beneficial into my praxis. Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom by bell hooks recognizes the potential freedom that can be achieved in the classroom and how teachers can use their power to push against racism, sexism, and all other forms of oppression. Pedagogy of the Oppressed by Paulo Freire particularly highlights the connection between education and oppression and outlines how oppressed people should direct the development of their own pedagogy. Decolonizing Education: Nourishing the Learning Spirit by Marie Battiste draws from Indigenous scholars and reflects on how the hegemonic model for education became Eurocentric.
There are plenty of other awesome books to choose from, and even if you’re familiar with these options already, I always find that I am able to have a deeper understanding of a text once I read it a second or third time.
Do you have other decolonized methods to educating? Let us know in the comments!
Practical Magic is a new column that curates how-to articles for living your best queer life, edited by Meg Jones Wall.
These Earplugs Changed My Life, Help Me Sleep Better Than Ever
This Changed My Life is an ode to the small, seemingly chill purchases bought by Autostraddle writers and editors this year that made our lives infinitely better. Did these items LITERALLY CHANGE OUR LIFE? No, we’re being gay and dramatic. But perhaps a pair of sunglasses really did change your life — who are we to judge?
Let me illustrate a scene for you. It’s the middle of the night, and I’m under my weighted blanket with two pillows supporting my head. My hair is pushed aside because if it touches my neck while I’m trying to sleep, the feeling of it will cause discomfort throughout my entire body. I ensure that the pajamas I’m wearing are loose fitted and not too stuck on my skin. As I slowly begin to drift to sleep, I hear a noise coming from outside. It’s not the worst sound in the world and wouldn’t necessarily be categorized as a nuisance, but it’s there. Then I hear someone in my apartment walking to the bathroom, followed by the sound of the toilet flushing. Overstimulation takes place where sleep is supposed to be.
“You really need some good sleeping earplugs,” someone once suggested to me. To be honest, I never considered getting any. I’ve tried other methods like melatonin, chamomile tea, gentle yin yoga, not looking at a screen an hour before bed. I’ve also come to accept very little sleep in my life and learned to relatively function well without it. Insomnia has occupied itself in me for most of my life, even during my childhood years.
So, one night at 3 a.m. with drooping eyes, I went on my phone in search for some earbuds. Soon enough, I discovered Loop.
Loop creates high-quality earplugs that filter out much of the noise around you but still allow you to engage in conversation or hear anything that may be important. A large number of customers purchase Loop earplugs because of noise sensitivities from being neurodivergent, having anxiety, or difficulties with focusing. I personally got Loop Quiet, which is made of soft silicone and was particularly designed to be worn comfortably all night. It offers up to 27 dB of noise reduction, and frankly, I don’t understand the exact science behind that metric, but it works pretty damn good. I was SHOOK the first time I put them on because it really does change the noise level of your environment. My dad calls me “Rabbit Ears” because of my ability to hear things from far away. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t hear what was going on from a relatively not-close distance. And it changed everything in the best way possible.
To put them on, all you gotta do is insert it in your ear, turn it, and make sure it doesn’t stick out or appear visible from the front of your face. Each order comes with 4 different sizes of ear tips (which can easily be cleaned with some basic soap and water) and a silicone plug that can easily be removed from your ear once you’re done using it. You also get a neat keychain case for your earplugs to carry and be on the go with. The best part is that you can choose from different colors!! Who doesn’t love when things come in different colors?! I got magic mint, which is a cute blue-green color you can even style and coordinate with the rest of your aesthetic.
I’ll admit, it took me a while to get used to the earplugs. But god it feels amazing for my body to relax and not feel alerted by every sound that comes up. I’m getting more sleep, and I’ve started wearing them casually as I’m doing homework in the library or taking the bus to work. Sometimes, I forget they’re even in my ears. Since wearing them regularly, I’ve also noticed how I feel more grounded. I struggle with emotional regulation, and something that has a huge impact on that is any stimulation that’s happening around me. My Loop Quiet earplugs not only help me at night, but they also make my day-to-day responsibilities more manageable and give me the motivation to tackle them.
Besides Quiet, you can also get Experience, which is geared more towards productivity and attending concerts, or check out Engage, which was curated primarily for social gatherings. After such a positive experience with Quiet, I definitely would love to try the other products. If you’re not sure which type to get, you can take a quiz on Loop’s website and find out which is best for you.
Chloé Hayden, best known for playing Quinni on Heartbreak High and is an autistic disability rights activist, model, author, and celebrity I personally admire so damn much, has collaborated with Loop and has praised the brand many times on her platform. If that doesn’t convince you to exit this article right now and go on Loop’s page to purchase some earplugs, I don’t know what will.
Whether you’re trying to nap, work on an immensely frustrating assignment, or meet a cutie at a loud and bustling dyke bar near you, Loop can bring the noise down and have you more in your element. It’s not a stretch to say it’s one of the best things I purchased in 2022 — or even on of the best things I’ve ever bought period. I think it can benefit everyone, even people who don’t have noise sensitivity.
“Dead End: Paranormal Park” and “Heartbreak High” Are for Autistic Queer Girls
The following article contains spoilers.
As much as I hate giving attention to cis white men, I’d like to start this piece by talking about them. Specifically autistic cis white men.
Autism representation is, overall, scarce. Our lack of visibility in media, professional fields, and other areas of life tells us that we don’t matter in a world that privileges neurotypicals. Regarding television, the three, and some of the only, well-known examples of representation include Atypical, The Good Doctor, and The Big Bang Theory. All of them focus on cis white men and are played by non-autistic actors. All of them have some sort of interest in science, which feeds into this stereotype that all autistic people are scientific geniuses (personally, I suck at science). All of them are made for the entertainment and consumption of a neurotypical audience. Atypical portrays autism as a tragedy for the autistic individual and a burden for the neurotypical people around them. The Good Doctor feeds into the harmful “autism is a superpower” rhetoric, further othering neurodivergent people and categorizing us as “less human”. Hell, Sheldon Cooper, the autistic in question from The Big Bang Theory, isn’t even autistic. But his “quirkiness” ends up being the butt of the joke so many times to a point where autism becomes acceptable only if it’s diluted and comedic.
This is all the more reason why Dead End: Paranormal Park and Heartbreak High, two shows that came out in 2022 and fulfill all my autistic queer fantasies, are groundbreaking.
Dead End: Paranormal Park, an animated series created by Hamish Steele and based on the graphic novel series, DeadEndia, introduces us to Norma. She’s Pakistani, bisexual, passionate, shy, and creative. And she’s autistic. From the start of the show, her autism is apparent. When she comes across Barney, the show’s protagonist, he tries to tell her that they already know each other and have attended the same school. Bluntly, Norma simply states that she’s “bad with names and faces”, which is a common autistic trait. Her special interest is Pauline Phoenix, an actress in the show’s universe who ends up being important to the plot. In another episode, Norma and other characters have to create a “human knot”. The physical touch, closeness, and movement overstimulates her, which leads to her having a shutdown. Norma struggles with socializing, and much of her character development involves her breaking out of her shell.
In an interview with The Hollywood Reporter, Steele goes into depth about the development of Norma’s character:
“One is that when I wrote the webcomics, I tried to make her “hashtag relatable.” I just thought this was everyone’s experience of life. So many people reached out and said, “Hey, I headcanonned her as autistic!” or “Great representation of anxiety.” I got so many comments like that when we came to write the show, I thought, Norma is autistic. So we had a consultant; we had autistic people on the crew. But every time I sent scripts or notes, the consultant said, “Wow, Hamish, you must have done so much research.” I was like, “I mean, a bit, but not really.” Long story short, I was diagnosed with autism during the show’s production, basically, thanks to Norma, because I was just writing my experiences.”
Norma isn’t a character whose differences are set up for watchers to pity or laugh at. Nor is she used for “diversity points” — her character is treated with dignity and respect. She’s also a badass fighter of evil spirits and demons who’s a part of a fantastic dynamic duo. As a Latina, it’s refreshing to see a nonwhite autistic character. While there’s been rising conversations concerning autistic women being overlooked, autistic people of color are often excluded from them despite also being routinely dismissed and underdiagnosed. This is because our health isn’t taken seriously, because the blueprint for the diagnostic criteria is largely based on autistic white boys. Autism research is extremely deficient in research that shows how autism can look different in varying groups of people and how it intersects with race and gender. Norma’s character is refreshing, and breaks this idea that autism has a “certain look”.
The 2022 reboot of Heartbreak High, based on the popular 90s series of the same name, follows the lives of multiple high school students. One of these characters is Quinni, who’s literally sunshine personified. Often styled in bold accessories like a cottagecore necklace or glitter hearts on her face, she experiences her emotions, like happiness and excitement, very deeply and isn’t afraid to demonstrate them through flapping her hands or flashing a wide smile. There are many other scenes of her stimming, something that is still stigmatized, like her playing with the rings on her finger or rocking back and forth. When Quinni’s accused of having a “lazy kebab vagina” in the first episode, she doesn’t understand the slang the rest of her peers seem to know, spends a tremendous amount of time researching it, and abruptly asks Amerie, a main character in the show she barely knows prior to this interaction, to inspect her vulva in the bathroom.
One of the highlights about Quinni for me is how her experiences show the difficulties of dating, especially dating neurotypical people, as a neurodivergent person. Many autistic people, myself included, have a hard time connecting with other people and often feel isolated others as a result of the world disabling us. One of Quinni’s main storylines is her relationship with Sasha. As soon as Quinni tells Sasha she is autistic, Sasha immediately questions her and says that she’s too “emotionally intelligent”. When they go on a date, the restaurant they go to is overstimulating for Quinni, which disconnects her from the present and obscures everything Sasha’s saying. As the pair are leaving a bookstore event, with Sasha annoyed and wanting to party, Sasha complains that she wants to be a “normal teenager” and Quinni’s autism is “a lot for her”.
Disability rights activist, one of Marie Clarie‘s 2022 Women of the Year recipients, and autistic model, actress, and writer Chloe Hayden plays Quinni. During an interview, Hayden explains that she’s waited “all her life” to play a character like Quinni, and aims to have viewers see themselves on screen in a way she’s never seen herself on screen growing up.
Dead End: Paranormal Park and Heartbreak High prove that we are capable of telling our own stories. Seeing Norma’s and Quinni’s nuanced portrayals of autistic queer teen girls heals the confused, scared, and incredibly lonely autistic queer teen girl I once was. And I’m so damn happy so many others are also feeling the same way. I’m optimistic about the future of autistic storytelling, and I’m excited to see what will come from these powerful foundations.
Homoerotic Friendships, Mosquita Y Mari, and the Things We Never Said
She turned 22 on November 19, and I remember this because we were born exactly one month apart in the same year. It was one of the first things we learned about each other, what drew us closer right away. We lived near each other, took the same route to school, and both loved books. Obviously, we had to be friends.
The second time Yolanda sees Mari, they actually interact. Mari walks in late to class, listening to music with earbuds in until she’s forced to stop by the teacher. Since she’s new to the class, she has to share a textbook with a classmate until she gets her own. The teacher tells her to sit next to Yolanda, which annoys Mari but incites a hint of excitement from Yolanda. When Yolanda notes that they’re neighbors, bringing their tables together and placing her textbook in between them, Mari abrasively asks if that means she owes her something, proceeding to tell her she looks like a little fly and calls her a “pinche mosquita“.
Eventually, they come to an agreement after a janitor finds them in the same bathroom where Mari is smoking weed. The janitor accuses them both, but Mari takes the fall and is the one sent to the principal’s office. Later in their neighborhood, Yolanda thanks Mari for not getting her in trouble, since it would kill her perfect record. Mari discloses her meeting in the principal’s office, revealing that she was told it’d be best if she were to just drop out and get her GED. Yolanda, taken back by this, says she shouldn’t because of college. This inspires her to propose they have study sessions together.
Such a simple exchange leads to a deep bond between the girls. They take trips to the local arcade, obsessively trying to win a clearly rigged game. They go on bike rides and visit each other’s houses to do homework. Stumbling upon an abandoned warehouse, the girls make it their own. On a dusty window of a broken car, Mari writes with her finger: ” Mosquita y Mari. Fuck the rest.”
She had Mari’s rebelliousness, attitude, and confidence. In the high school hierarchy, she was much more popular than I was and had a lot more friends. Because I was too scared, she performed her daring acts with the other friends she had, which would later be reported to me on a bus ride to school in the morning. Talking to adult men on the internet, hanging around downtown Manhattan while her parents thought she was at a friend’s house, and smoking weed, she wasn’t afraid of anything. I was afraid of everything.
She was also capable of being very mean, and I think a part of her knew that and used it to her advantage. She would make nonchalant criticisms of my style, calling it basic while hers was bold. She once whispered with a guy we knew and laughed with him, purposefully excluding me. When I asked her what they were talking about, she said the guy was joking about my yellow teeth. I was hurt but didn’t show it. The conversation topic quickly changed to YouTubers we liked, and we never mentioned my teeth again.
No matter how mature we seemed, we really were just girls. We’d take long walks on the narrow sidewalk bordering the highway that led to our neighborhood, making up scenarios about the people we’d pass. The woman in the car is coming back from a secret affair. The man walking ahead of us has a cigarette addiction. We’d go on swings and see who could go the highest (most of the time, it was me). In a long-gone video, we lip-synced to Britney Spears and horribly danced in her family’s sala, our childish behavior recorded by a phone balanced on her sofa. On our way to school one day, we found a key on the ground. We imagined it held all the secrets to the universe (this was probably inspired by Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, one of my favorite books I introduced her to). Despite everything that happened, I’d like to believe these moments were genuine.
One of the things I struggle with the most with my autism is alexithymia, which is difficulty in identifying and expressing emotions. She didn’t know that I was autistic because I didn’t know I was autistic. My parents knew from when I was two years old that I was autistic, and after numerous doctor appointments, I was recommended to get examined. The examination never happened because I’d end up in special ed and, in my parents’ view, life would’ve been “too hard.” Besides years of speech therapy, my parents asserted that they raised me “like everyone else” for my benefit.
I wouldn’t start to realize my neurodivergency until over a year ago, when my therapist asked if I was autistic upon our first meeting. It was ridiculous. In my mind, I couldn’t possibly be autistic because I would have known. Plus, I didn’t realize that autism in women, especially women of color, looks different than it does in white boys, who are the foundation of most autism knowledge and research. I called my mom while sitting on my dorm bed, expecting her to agree with how crazy the possibility sounded. Instead, she told me the truth.
In one scene, during an outdoor gym class, the girls sit near each other on the bleachers. They joke around about their hideous blue gym shorts and writings they’ve discovered in their secret hideout, which leads to Mari getting on top of Yolanda. They wrestle, laugh. As Yolanda straddles Mari and they stare deeply into each other’s eyes, their peers watch the pair with suspicion. To make the whole ordeal lighter, Mari blows in Yolanda’s face, hits her with a “gotcha,” and quickly gets off of her.
In another scene, the girls are at Yolanda’s house. It’s cold, so Yolanda gets under a blanket on her couch in her family’s sala. It’s not enough, so she asks Mari to lay down next to her. There’s a pause before she agrees and goes under. They talk about college and their futures. They have no idea what’s to come, but Yolanda is confident they’ll go to the same college together. Their faces and bodies are close to one another, and it’s relaxing and natural and simply is. Yolanda and Mari take a nap and, after they wake up, Yolanda finds her hand on Mari’s bare stomach. She gently caresses it, slowly but with so much care and affection. None of them say a word. The scene is interrupted by Yolanda’s parents, whose arrival causes Yolanda and Mari to jump as far away from each other as possible. Their bodies go stiff, and Yolanda sheepishly says they were studying before Mari abruptly says goodbye to everyone and leaves.
Yolanda wants to talk about what happened. Mari takes it as an offense, claiming there’s nothing to talk about. Yolanda’s “tripping” and making things weird. But things are already weird.
I’ve had similar moments to these. On one of our bus rides together after school, she and I sat next to each other on one of those double-seats MTA public transportation vehicles usually have. I don’t remember what we were talking about.
Our faces, suddenly, close together. She’s looking at me, and I’m looking at her, and nothing else matters. Her hand is on my thigh and, while I’m iffy with physical touch, I enjoy that it’s happening, and I let it continue.
Would something have happened if my stop didn’t come shortly after? Who knows.
On a scorching summer day, we’re sitting on a blanket, on the grass, in the park. It was a last-minute plan, and I begged my father for train fare since our student MetroCards don’t work during the summertime. She wants to take pictures of me, and I’m totally against it at first because of all my insecurities.
“I’m not photogenic”, I say, suddenly flooded with intrusive thoughts of how pretty and photogenic she is compared to me. I turn my gaze away from hers in hopes she doesn’t notice my feelings of inferiority. The action ends up futile, since she forces us to make eye contact, firmly stating that I’m beautiful. My body’s suddenly hotter, and my heart races as she snaps shots of me.
After the photoshoot, she smiles as she shows me the pictures she took. I still don’t completely believe I’m beautiful, but I must be close to it if she says I am. We’re hungry, and she leaves me to get dollar pizza slices for us while I sit in our secluded spot in the park, overwhelmed and confused. There is a tension that is never freed.
While Yolanda and Mari never talk or overtly think about the possibility of being queer, she and I openly talked about our queer identities. I’ve known I was queer since 11 years old and told her at the end of our freshman year. She knew she was queer after becoming official with a mutual friend of ours in junior year. I was always shocked by how easy it was for her. She got the girl she liked and told everybody. I discovered my queerness from being attracted to an unattainable straight girl, and my first impulse was to hide and drown in shame.
She and I never talked about “us.” Maybe I’m looking too much into it and she never thought of the private moments between us as intimate. Maybe she’ll one day stumble upon this essay, laugh at how pathetic and dumb I am for misinterpreting our relationship. There are a lot of things between us that are blurry to me now, largely because of the fickle, fragile nature of memory. Some memories, intentionally or unintentionally, slip through the cracks. Others are like shapeshifting beasts that twist to fit my current way of processing.
When I was finally diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder a month ago, I was asked by the neuropsychologist how I felt. “I don’t know,” I said. I can’t understand my feelings in the moment. But I felt a tightness, a liminal space between repression and release. It was heavy. When I left my appointment, freshly diagnosed, I crossed the threshold of release and sobbed.
I forgave my parents for not taking me to get diagnosed as a child. They didn’t know how to raise an autistic child and were doing their best. But I don’t think I have forgiven her. I haven’t forgotten about her either. At least once a month, she comes to me in dreams. We’re either adolescent girls again, adults, or one of us is a girl and the other is a woman. Sometimes we ignore each other, sometimes we talk about the things that happened in our friendship that caused it to end, and sometimes we talk like nothing happened.
She and I were both born and raised in The Bronx, New York, in a neighborhood similar to the one in Mosquita y Mari. I didn’t know much of her family’s economic status, but I assumed it was similar to mine. The talks Yolanda receives are the same exact talks I’ve received. My parents never wanted me to work because they believed I should just focus on school. My father would make it known how much he busts his ass to provide a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food on the table. I needed to work hard not just for a better life, but to also honor the hardships a generation before went through. This mentality was instilled in him through his parents, who immigrated from Puerto Rico to the United States for economic opportunities.
As if we had a clue, she and I had conversations about leaving The Bronx. There were adults in our school that didn’t give a damn about us and gave up on a lot of our peers. “Most of y’all would end up in jail, become parents before the age of 21, or never lead successful lives,” I vividly remember one teacher saying. That pressure, even in our lightest moments, was always lingering. It was constant. It still is.
Yolanda’s and Mari’s friendship takes a solid shift when Yolanda discovers Mari making out with an older man in their secret hideout. Frozen, Yolanda watches in heartbreak before she drops Mari’s geometry test on the floor and runs away. She doesn’t know Mari only did it for money. They stop talking for good, and Yolanda begins hanging out with other peers, drinking, smoking, and flirting with a boy she obviously has zero attraction to. The final scene shows the two girls walking on different sidewalks across from each other. They notice each other, stop, and stare. A small smile appears on each of their faces.
My friendship with her actually ended twice. The first time was our sophomore year, after I missed an important show she and a mutual friend were in to be with a girl I was dating. Months later, I became friends with her again, but my friendship with the other girl never rekindled. The second time our friendship ended was at the end of junior year. She and the girl she was dating were having some petty drama that spread around our small school. Being a stupid 16-year-old, I posted on Snapchat how happy I was to be out of the drama (look, I never claimed to be innocent). Her girlfriend texted and dumped an avalanche of information on me. The person I thought was my friend told everyone how crazy and obsessed I was with her. She told as many people as she could about my hospitalization due to being on the verge of killing myself, adding in a lie that I begged her to live in the mental hospital with me. I was only kept around because, apparently, she was scared of what I’d do. There were other lies, and the craziest one was that I was out to get her friends so I could be the only one close to her.
I couldn’t believe it, but it made sense. It explained why I got a lot of stares, why there were hushed side comments when I passed by. Another struggle with my autism is having trouble reading people, so I never understood what the stares and comments meant. But I knew they were bad, and what I was told cemented that. With trepidation, I confronted her about it. I don’t remember how exactly the conversation went, but I do remember her excessively apologizing. And crying for days on end. And feeling like my heart was too heavy for my chest, on the brink of exploding.
Our entire senior year was spent not being friends. It was hard, especially since we shared most classes. But I got through it, learned how to be “me” without her, and graduated. I grew thicker skin as a defense mechanism, even though it was painful to be in the same room as her five days a week. It was confusing. I relentlessly replayed each memory to look for anything I missed, to understand why everything happened.
There were two times in 2020 when she and I crossed paths. Oddly enough, we walked past each other in the same exact area, in front of a market just six minutes away from my building. Both times, I was out running errands. I have no idea where she was coming from or where she was going. I acted like she wasn’t there and kept walking. All my life, I’ve masked. I was able to perform and push down the terrifying anxiety that bubbled inside me as soon as my eyes met hers.
Now, she and I are nothing but memories. Memories that are sometimes stale, sometimes taut, and a lot of the time porous. I do hope she is okay. But I never want to talk to or see her ever again.
“You miss her,” my partner responded after an influx of text bubbles sent by me.
“Fuck no.”
Holigay Gift Guide: What To Buy for Your Grad School Friend Who’s Too Busy To Read This
Holigays 2022 // Header by Viv Le
Ah, the holidays. A time for failed gingerbread assembling attempts and corny Hallmark Christmas films. Also, NO SCHOOL!!! For a few weeks, undergrad and grad students alike are able to completely forget about papers, exams, and pretentious professors. This break is especially important given the fact that it literally happens during after finals season, where campus libraries are flooded, and student portals crash because everyone is checking their grades.
In grad school, the stakes are higher. The coursework is more intense, and competition is increased. Undergrad is for finding your passion and exploring what you’re capable of; grad school is for becoming an expert in your field of choice. Most of us are older than 18-22 years old. While many undergrad students also have jobs, grad students balancing work and school are even more common. In a way, grad school is a job. A good number of grad students are parents and have families to care for (for anyone reading who’s a parent AND a grad student, I salute you).
If you have a loved one attending grad school, a gift to them this holiday season might just give them the motivation to keep going, or at least feel at ease and appreciated. They might be too busy for you to ask them what they want for the holidays — or too busy to even think about what they want. Maybe you are a grad student yourself who miraculously found the time to brainstorm ideas on what you’d like. Either way, this list has you covered! Also, if I know you in real life and you’re reading this, take notes.
Being On the Go
1. Hydromate Bottle With Straw ($20) // 2. Bento Classic All-in-one Stackable Lunch Box ($15) // 3. E7 Active Noise Cancelling Bluetooth Over-Ear Headphones ($40) // 4. Herschel Heritage Backpack ($70)
Sometimes the hardest part of my day is getting to my destination and having to take the bus and train. Many grad students are well aware of the stress that comes with having to commute on public transportation. For those who drive wherever they go, traffic and campus parking can be literal nightmares. I had a friend in undergrad who explained that she was late to class a lot of the time because there were rarely vacant parking spots near her academic building. Now, unless you can take charge of parking infrastructure on your grad school pal’s campus or magically change every issue with public transportation (if anyone reading this is capable of fixing New York City’s, I would be eternally grateful to you), below are some things that can make the trip more bearable.
This water bottle is gallon-sized and has time stamps to remind you to stay hydrated! Each time stamp comes with a short motivational phrase to keep drinking. While this one is Mint Rose Gold, there are other neat colors to choose from. The bento box comes with two containers. The top container has two compartments that are each capable of holding 3/4 cups of food. The bottom container holds two cups. It’s perfect for those days when you’re out and about for a long period of time. And it comes with utensils!! Who doesn’t love extra utensils!!! The headphones can be used for listening to music or your favorite podcast while you’re on the road. They last for 30 hours after being fully charged, are wireless, and work with iPhones, Androids, and other cellular devices! The earpads are soft, and you can adjust it to fit your head shape. The backpack is probably one of my personal favorites on this list. Listen, I know tote bags have been crowned as the ultimate bag for queer people. But when you need to pack notebooks, pens, folders, your laptop, and lunch, you’re gonna need something more spacious and durable. It’s functional, comfy, and even has a sleeve just for laptops.
Study Tools
1. Quad Light 4 Led Education ($15) // 2. Morandi Silicone Keyboard Hand Rest | Memory Foam Keyboard Mat | Silicone Wrist Guard | Comfortable Wrist Pad |Office Wrist Pad ($21) // 3. Strawberry Fields Desk Organizer ($19) // 4. Sun-Star Ninipie Dual Tip Highlighter – 6 Pen Set B ($15)
You wanna know why your grad school friend is too busy to read this? They’re probably studying for a big test or typing away on their laptop’s keyboard for an assignment. Make their life easier by getting them these study tools.
Book lights are one of the coolest inventions in the world, and this Quad Light model stands out. They’re perfect for when you have a bunch of readings to do but you don’t want to sit at a desk or turn on any lights. You can securely attach them to any book, adjust the light settings and neck to your liking, and power them with Triple A batteries. This keyboard mat provides a soft cushion for your wrist and prevents cramping or joint pain for when you’re working on a laptop or computer. The cute desk organizer comes with multiple compartments of varying sizes. Their open space allows you to easily grab pens, pencils, notebooks, or whatever you choose to store in them. These two-in-one highlighter/fineliner markers are different from double-sided pens in that the tips of the highlighter and marker are right next to each other! You can simply rotate the pen to use whichever tool you’d like.
Planners, Planners, Planners
1. Habit Tracker Calendar ($18) // 2. Weekly 2023 Annual Celestial Blue ($38) // 3. 2023 Deep Botanicals Floral Happy Planner – Classic Vertical Layout – 12 Months ($30) // 4. Desk Weekly Leather Planner – 8″ x 5.5″ ($36)
I am well aware that we live in a digital age where Google Calendar and other nifty scheduling apps exist. Those are all valid, and maybe a premium subscription to a fancy calendar or planning app would be a good idea for a gift. However, some of us like to keep it classic! There’s something about being able to process and store information better when you physically write it down. Also, looking at your to-do list on aesthetically pleasing papers makes the tasks, at least for me, less daunting. Here are a few good options to consider getting your friend so they can conquer their schedules.
Habit Tracker Calendar is not really a planner, so this may be cheating. Essentially, it helps you keep track of all your habits and forces you to hold yourself accountable, which is good for sticking to your schedule. There is also a to-do list on there that allows you to check off things you’ve done throughout your day and week. The Passion Planner option is probably best for all the spiritual babes out there. It includes vertical time slots, inspirational quotes, challenges to improve your daily life, space for practicing gratitude, and a “space of infinite possibility.” You can also create a “passion roadmap” to define short-term and long-term goals and set a timeline for them. The floral planner consists of 12 dividers with floral patterns, a collection of stickers, and breaks your responsibilities down by morning, afternoon, and evening. And the leather planner is classic, suitable for those who like to keep it simple. Made of leather material and ivory pages with gold gilded page edges, you can also personalize it with your initials.
Stress Relief
1. Lovehoney Glow-in-the-Dark Deluxe Mini Massage Wand Vibrator ($50) // 2. Hydrating Coconut Milk Bath ($18) // 3. The Body Positive Adult Coloring Book ($9) // 4. Charcoal Detox Mask ($24)
Originally, I wanted to include things like stress balls and fidget rings for this category. But life’s not all about school and work! It is a constant struggle to break out of the colonial narrative that our worth is determined by how “productive” we are. Academia especially has conditioned us to believe that we should constantly be working on something. For anyone reading this who needs a reminder: Your existence is enough. You have the right to relaxation and joy. After finals are over and a semester ends, I think it’s hard for students to allow themselves to relax and enjoy themselves. This category contains a number of items that can help students switch-off from work mode and give themselves permission to slow down.
This mini vibrator is a rechargeable, waterproof powerhouse. It includes seven vibration patterns, ten intensity levels, and, as the name suggests, GLOWS IN THE DARK!! It’ll bring a little fun to sexy time, whether it’s solo, with a partner, or with multiple partners! Filled with inclusive and diverse pictures, this coloring book reminds us that our bodies are valuable and sacred. Illustrated by Kateryna Salii, you can sit back and color to your heart’s content. The bath powder has a gentle mixture of coconut milk powder infused with rich vitamins and minerals, including magnesium and potassium. Bathing in the product will leave your skin soft and hydrated! And the mask with the bath powder is a recipe for a relaxing spa day! This mask has ingredients such as argan oil and shea butter that’ll cleanse and purify your skin.
40 Female Horror Protagonists, Ranked by Lesbianism
Horror Is So Gay // Header by Viv Le
Women in horror are special to me. Between being stripped of bodily autonomy to being seen as nothing more than an object for male pleasure, being a woman is one of the scariest things in the world. Horror has been an avenue for exploring these issues. Some films portray women as monsters, delving into the terror surrounding, or rather the terror placed upon, sexuality, motherhood, and puberty. Other films have the “Final Girl”, a complicated role where the woman often survives because she is morally superior compared to her peers.
Horror is also, like, super gay. Recent meditations on this subject, such as It Came From the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror, Queer For Fear: The History of Queer Horror, and Autostraddle’s very own series, Horror Is So Gay, prove it. So, of course, I simply had to rank female protagonists in horror by how dyke-ish they are (or seem to be). This list contains a mix of horror classics and modern films. A few of them are TV shows worthy of consideration. The characters presented here are played by legendary scream queens, are monsters, final girls, or rebels that don’t fit neatly into any category.
40. Max Cartwright, The Final Girls
The film is, disappointingly, straight. You’d think a horror parody with many satirical elements would at least be a little gay, but nope.
39. Sarah Bailey, The Craft
Witchcraft is gay. The Craft itself feels like a queer movie. But even after kissing her gal pal in order to perform a ritual, Sarah’s still, unfortunately, very straight.
38. Amelia Vanek, The Babadook
Representation for homophobic straight women who eventually go on to shop Target’s Pride collection for their gay child.
37. Marion Crane, Psycho
I don’t know why, but I get the vibe that she would be one of those straight girls who love gay men but hate lesbians.
36. Sue Ann, Ma
Octavia Spencer is compelling no matter what character she plays. Even straight ones.
35. Bee, The Babysitter
Let’s just keep moving and ignore the fact that her making out with Bella Thorn’s character — playful at best and objectifying at worst — was the result of a Spin the Bottle game in front of a group of dudes.
34. Theresa “Tree” Gelbman, Happy Death Day
Tree is the name of the President at your local GSA or a popular Tumblr user. But that’s as far as queerness goes for this character.
33. Jamie “Jay” Height, It Follows
Yet another very queer name for a very not-queer character.
32. Dawn, Teeth
Not quite gay, but where’s the “supporting women’s wrongs” Twitter meme when you need it?
31. Jennifer, Sweetheart
Jenn slays a sea monster with a makeshift weapon from branches and the bones of dead people. She’s resourceful, just like a lesbian.
30. Clarice Starling, The Silence of the Lambs
Played by lesbian icon Jodie Foster, Clarice must be a little gay.
29. Sadie Blake, Rise: Blood Hunter
Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry. Mommy? Sorry.
28. Miranda Grey, Gothika
Miranda has the potential of a woman who would use their supernatural powers to open a private practice with her girlfriend, who would handle all the business operations.
27. Thomasin, The VVitch
Remember when Willow went “dark” in that one season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer? That’s Thomasin. Actually, Thomasin and Dark Willow would probably be besties, engaging in morally ambiguous behavior and chaotically queer festivities.
26. Dani, Midsommar
I firmly believe that Dani would fall in love with a sensitive, sexy butch after the ritualistic sacrifice of her piece-of-shit boyfriend.
25. Mitsuko, Tag
A solid 70% of her problems in the movie would be solved if she had a girlfriend.
24. Laurie Strode, Halloween
Laurie’s been trying to run from Michael Myers for over 40 years and still finds herself caught in the crossfire, just like lesbians who swear they’re over their ex but can’t seem to completely move on. (After the recent The L Word: Generation Q teasers, I’m specifically looking at you, Bette Porter.)
23. Madison, “Maddie” Young, Hush
Having a man in your home is definitely a horror story.
22. Sidney Prescott, Scream
I’m well aware that Sidney has only ever been with men in the films and never expressed attraction to women. But Scream writer Kevin Williamson himself has said that the character is an allegory for queer survival. Also, Neve Campbell is hot and I may or may not have had a crush on her growing up.
21. Adelaide “Addy” Wilson, Us
She’s that enigmatic, mysterious girl you matched with on Hinge and had a couple of dates with. You can’t figure out what her deal is no matter how hard you try.
20. Brigitte Fitzgerald, Ginger Snaps
In the sequel of this film, Brigitte’s doctor writes “Lesbian?” in her notes after Brigitte describes the symptoms of her lycanthropy, echoing what me and other viewers have thought all along.
19. Cordelia Foxx, American Horror Story: Coven
Between being a Stevie Nicks fan and her “friendship” with Misty Day, she’s not fooling anybody.
18. Carrie White, Carrie
When Carrie says “no” after her mother tells her to go inside the closet? Iconic. Also, many queers can relate to hating everyone in school.
17. Justine, Raw
I bet Justine eats pussy with the same vigor and buoyancy she displays when eating human flesh.
16. The Girl, A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night
Major top energy. After a successful night of terrorizing men, The Girl probably blows off steam by having endless rounds of lesbian sex.
15. Katrina, Vamp
This video does more than any words I could possibly say.
14. Buffy Summers, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Hear me out. First, I do want to stress that, if our beloved lesbian witch Willow Rosenberg were the main character of this show, she’d be at the top of this list without a second thought. Second, I know at first glance Buffy comes across as Heterosexual™, given the show’s focus on her relationships with vampires Angel and Spike. But many show fans recognize her relationship with the slayer Faith as a complicated one with a shit-ton of queer undertones. Also, Faith’s line, “Let’s have another go at it. See who lands on top”, to Buffy has been living in my head rent-free since I was 14 years old.
Those who read the comics know that Buffy briefly enters a sexual relationship with Satsu, a fellow slayer. According to them, the first night they fucked was one of the best nights of their lives. Buffy is bisexual, and I will defend this until my very last breath.
13. Min-ah, Memento Mori
No one can be as deeply invested in a queer relationship as Min-ah is and not be queer.
12. Ellen Ripley, Alien
Full disclosure: I’ve never seen any of the alien movies. While doing research for this piece, Ellen came up in many articles. Her name is gay. She looks like many of the dykes I’ve passed by on my Lower East Side Manhattan adventures. She just screams gay.
11. Ally Mayfair-Richards, American Horror Story: Cult
The most lesbian thing about Ally isn’t that she’s a lesbian or is played by Sarah Paulson. The most lesbian thing about her is that she’s constantly crying or on the verge of tears. She also ends up being in a cult that wants to kill all men, if that’s worth anything.
10. Ramona Royale, American Horror Story: Hotel
I don’t know whether I want Ramona’s badass energy, be Ramona because she gets to have sex with Lady Gaga’s character, or be Lady Gaga’s character because she gets to have sex with Ramona.
9. Miriam Blaylock, The Hunger
Judge me all you want, but if I were to turn into a vampire, I’d want it to be done by Miriam.
8. Maddy Killian, All Cheerleaders Die
Maddy follows in Santana Lopez’s and Brittany S. Pierce’s footsteps in showing how gay cheerleading can be.
7. Lana Winters, American Horror Story: Asylum
Sarah Paulson, who has now made an appearance for the third time on this list, really is her best when playing a lesbian. Lana Winters is far from positive representation (we can’t expect much from Ryan Murphy). She ends up in a mental hospital for her sexuality and other horrific acts are done against her. Much of her trauma feels pornographic, used for adding to the “edgy and dark” tone American Horror Story delivers. But, she’s a queer person that survives.
6. Laurel, Bit
Trans characters in horror are rare and have often been villainized by the genre. But Laurel is a heroine in Bit and in control of her narrative. She’s also unapologetically lesbian, kissing and flirting with Izzy, a fellow member of an all-girl vampire gang. An important rule for the gang is that they should never turn a man into a vampire, because, historically, they can’t handle power. It’s camp, queer, fun, and refreshing.
5. Thelma, Thelma
The link between supernatural powers and sexuality is nothing new in horror. But Thelma, the film’s titular character, adds nuance to the trope with her queer identity. The more she represses who she is, as well as her feelings for another girl, the less control she has over her psychokinetic powers. Thelma’s eventual control of her abilities and realization that her powers aren’t inherently evil only happens when she comes to terms with her queerness.
4. Juliette Fairmont and Calliope “Cal” Burns, First Kill
OUR LOVE IS DEEPER THAN EDWARD’S AND BELLAAAAAAAAAAA’S!!!
IF I WERE A ZOMBIE, I’D NEVER EAT YOUR BRAAAAIIINN!
3. The Yellowjackets Soccer Team, Yellowjackets
Yellowjackets has such a strong ensemble, how could I not include the whole team? First of all, soccer is gay, so there’s that. Second, lesbianism is as rampant as whatever supernatural shit is going on in this show. Shauna and Jackie are an example of the confusing, homoerotic friendships many young queers find themselves in. Taissa and Van are your typical soft butch and power femme couple. Nat is also the spitting image of the angry dyke teen aesthetic (she absolutely listened to riot grrrl too, even though it’s not confirmed).
2. Jennifer Check and Anita “Needy” Lesnicki, Jennifer’s Body
Y’all knew this was coming. What can I say about these two that hasn’t already been said? Jennifer and Needy, from sandbox besties to high school friends with an undeniably deep connection, never come close to actually crossing the threshold of being a couple. There’s something more than friendship, even if it’s not concrete. Jennifer and Needy are devoted to each other, and one is often seen prolongedly gazing at the other. All Needy can think about is Jennifer as she loses her virginity to her boyfriend. The truest horror of the film, paired with male violence against women and girls, is existing in a heteronormative world where a young girl’s value is tied to how desirable she is to men. That is, tragically, at least partially, why Jennifer and Needy never cross that threshold.
If you haven’t already, please read this amazing essay by the Carmen Maria Machado on Jennifer’s Body, bisexuality, and the dangers of quickly branding something as “queerbaiting”.
1. Deena Johnson, The Fear Street Trilogy
Young sapphic love is at the heart of this film trilogy. Deena is a Black, queer, and sexually active girl who’s a “fuck you” to the Final Girl and Bury Your Gays trope. She, and her girlfriend Sam, make it out alive against all odds after metaphorical battles against homophobia and toxic masculinity. Their love being a powerful force above all evil may come across as a cliche, but their story proves to be groundbreaking in the horror genre as a whole.
Horror Is So Gay is a series on queer and trans horror edited by Autostraddle Managing Editor Kayla Kumari Upadhyaya running throughout October.
AM/PM: A Skincare Routine For The Overstressed Grad Student
Welcome to AM/PM, where Autostraddle team members break down and share their skincare routines, makeup looks and more!
I’m Lily, a contributing writer here at Autostraddle. I’m also an overachiever because I love validation. Is it so bad? That’s subjective — and also something to dissect in therapy.
Originally, my skincare routine began similar to how many young, clueless people start out — the Clean and Clear Morning and Night face washes and St. Ives scrubs and creams. Luckily, I’ve grown a lot since then and will never commit those atrocities against my face again.
My older half-sister is a licensed esthetician and is all about skincare. She also has a business called Spa’cifically For You, where she makes body care products and does facial or waxing appointments, so go support a business owned by a Black woman and mother. She helped me learn how to take care of my skin throughout the years and taught me the importance of self-care.
I often joke that I never have enough hours in the day. I work and I’m currently pursuing a Master’s degree in English Literature. If I’m not in class or on the job, I’m burying myself in a reading or writing assignment. Stopping to take care of myself allows me to find peace and ground myself. That is why I developed a morning skincare routine that’s quick, isn’t 10+ steps, and still leaves me feeling like I’m the most fuckable person in the room.
The Products
1. Baby Frioz Mini Icy Globes ($58) 2. CeraVe Hydrating Facial Cleanser ($12) 3. Drunk Elephant Intensive Hydration Serum ($48) 4. Derma E Vitamin C Glow Face Oil ($21.95) 5. Supergoop! Every. Single. Face. Water Lotion ($34) 6. L’Oreal Paris Eye Defense Cream ($19) 7. TYNT Brow Gel ($14)
The Routine
Before touching your face, WASH YOUR DAMN HANDS!! Any skincare routine is pointless if you don’t make sure that your hands are clean. Okay, back to regular programming.
After wetting my face with lukewarm water, I use my CeraVe Hydrating Face Cleanser. It’s classic and popular for a reason, it gets the job done without leaving my face dry.
For serums, I used to always use The Ordinary. It’s affordable, reliable, and never caused me any problems. However, my mom once received a lot of skincare products from a friend and gave me the Drunk Elephant Intensive Hydration Serum. It makes my skin sooooooo soft, moisturized, and gives me a shine that wasn’t there when I used The Ordinary. Though I wouldn’t typically spend this much money on a product, it does come with a lot and lasts a while.
Two small drops of my Derma-E Vitamin C Glow Face Oil are applied onto my palm before spreading it across my face. It gives me such a good glow and is my absolute favorite step because it really helps tie everything together.
As someone who’s always struggled with dark eye circles and puffy eyes, L’Oreal’s Eye Defense cream and Icy Globes saved my life. The globes came from the Allure Beauty Box, a subscription I tragically had to cancel in order to save money. The eye cream came from a sale in my local Walgreens. I use the globes, which should be stored in a cool place like a refrigerator, to rub the cream into my face.
Similar to Analyssa, I stand by Supergoop’s face lotion. It’s lightweight and protects my skin under the sun. This is especially important since my mother used to have melanoma, which increases the chances of me developing skin cancer (I know that was dark as hell so sorry for killing the vibe okay). Finally, I top it off with the TYNT Brow Gel, another gem from Allure’s Beauty Box. It makes my brows look more full and defined. Once my skincare routine is complete, I get dressed, pack my lunch, and then I’m on my way to take the bus and train for my daily commute.
So, there go all my secrets. You can’t disrupt academia without looking good. There’s always this heavy weight — I’m the first in my family to ever go to grad school and Latinas barely make up 4% of all those with Master’s degrees in the United States. Shit’s hard. But my routine makes me confident and ready to take up space. And feel fuckable.
I Rediscovered Fanfiction This Year and It Reconnected Me to My Inner Teen
Feature image by Deepak Sethi via Getty Images
Flashback to 2015. Some may say I was a connoisseur of fanfiction genres. From hurt/comfort to alternative universes, I appreciated and devoured all forms of fan writing. A lot of the time, I was reading slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers SwanQueen fanfiction on Archive of Our Own as I went about my morning commute to high school. Or flicking my eyes between my bedroom door and an explicit Sam Winchester x Reader fic on my phone as I humped my pillow as quietly as possible. Or dreaming I would someday be able to write like the fics with 100k+ words and thousands of kudos that were so popular they created fandoms within fandoms.
***
I stopped reading fanfiction once I got to college. A large reason why is that I was simply too busy. I double majored in English Literature and Gender and Women’s Studies. Shakespeare and feminist theory — instead of a fictional character realizing they were in love with their best friend the whole time or getting their brain fucked out — had me up until 3 a.m. With school, work, and extracurricular activities, my days of fervent fanfiction consumption were long gone and forgotten.
Another, deeper, reason is that I was on a quest to sever ties with the pieces of me that weren’t aligned with the version of myself I wanted to be. That version was measured by quantities — I needed to be less weird, less awkward, more social, and more in tune with whatever the popular social climate was. I ditched pillows for a vibrator and dildo. I told myself I needed to ditch my ties to fandom culture as well.
***
In literary history, there’s arguably a surprisingly high amount of texts that’d be considered fanfiction. Paradise Lost is fanfiction of the Bible, The Iliad is fanfiction of ancient Greek orality, and Lancelot’s basically an OC (original character) who was never a part of the original Arthurian Legend canon. But they’re all considered literature.
Fanfiction isn’t considered literature. It’s juvenile, written by amateurs, uncreative because it’s based on existing material. There’s never any “depth” or “universal truth” (whatever that means). It doesn’t matter that it’s an accessible route for writers to publish their work, a celebration of beloved works, and a vehicle for people to form connections. It doesn’t matter that there are many people whose only way to read is through free fanfiction websites because they may not have the means to go to a library or bookstore. Fanfiction isn’t managed by publishing companies or sold at bookstores, so it’s not taken seriously.
***
Fast forward to February of this year. Time feels stilted, like I’m stuck in traffic and there’s barely any movement. It’s excruciating to go from being in a fast-paced environment, inundated with responsibilities, to spending my days waiting for a “We would like to offer you the position…” email or relentlessly applying to any job posting I can find.
When nothing’s happening in the present, you either look to the past or future to fill in the gaps. I had no idea what the future held, so I chose the past.
I can’t explain how exactly it happened, but from idle browsing on the internet, I found myself back where I was at 15 years old. Back to OTPs, chapters with gut-wrenching cliffhangers, and characters getting the happy endings they didn’t get from their original stories. Obviously, I’m more mature and have had more life experiences since adolescence but, alongside rediscovering fanfiction, I also rediscovered my teen self. She never left and was merely forced into a box with a lock and key under layers of self-hatred. The best version of myself wasn’t achieved through reinvention. It was achieved through acceptance.
***
From PEN15 to Turning Red, there seems to be a rise in the “Cringey Teen Girl.” Though similar, it’s not exactly the overly white, often male-gazey category of quiet and nerdy girls in movies and television. The Cringey Teen Girl’s awkwardness isn’t palatable, nor is it constructed to be portrayed as “cute” or “endearing.” The Cringey Teen Girl’s lack of grace, like obsessing over a celebrity or failing in social spheres, is unbearable and creates an unsettled feeling in viewers because her behavior isn’t accepted by the general public. The category also doesn’t necessarily fall under the “Not Like Other Girls” trope; she is like other girls, because so many girls are, or once were, her.
The Cringey Teen Girl is a reflection of how mainstream society wrongfully invalidates the interests of teen girls. Whether it’s fanfiction, a celebrity crush, TikTok, or any other form of pop culture, if it has a fanbase largely made up of passionate teen girls, it’ll be dismissed. It’s misogyny at its finest; the interests of teen boys aren’t nearly as ridiculed. It’s also another weapon to make teen girls hate themselves.
***
I’m not in the place I was in February. I have a job and am in grad school. But I also make time to read some juicy fanfiction. On the train or in the comfort of my bed after a long day of work or class, you may find me fangirling from characters having their first kiss or bookmarking a specific fic if it has a sex scene I want to try in real life later. If you look hard enough, you’ll also find my inner teen fangirling with me, happy and unashamed.
Playlist: Ethereal Songs For Going Beyond Reality
Someone helped me do my Astrocartography chart recently. I just learned such a thing existed a week ago, and while I still don’t completely understand it, it’d be a disservice if I don’t explain what it is. It’s basically a cool thing in Astrology where your birth chart can reveal how certain locations of your life can mold your identity or are backdrops to major life events. I’m not sure if I believe it, but it’s fun to have you and your friends circle around a screen where you try to find the meaning of your existence in the stars.
Anyway, a part of my interpretation said I can be “out of touch with reality”. And, to an extent, that damn online birth chart generator wasn’t wrong. With reality the way it is, is it so wrong to sometimes detach yourself from the real world and venture into fantasy realms? Also, who’s to say what’s reality and what isn’t? (One thing about me is I WILL ramble on how we live in The Matrix.) I’m not advocating doing this all the time — being present and grounded are important, too. But letting your mind and spirit wander, exploring the depths of the subconscious, and tapping into your imagination are sometimes remedies for real-life shit.
One awesome thing I love about queer people is how we make things come into reality. When the world isn’t accepting, or something feels impossible, queer people find a way to build a bridge to our dreams.
Escaping has looked different for me throughout the years. In elementary school, it was writing melodramatic and fantastical stories that had my teachers question my parents at parent-teacher conferences. In college, it was smoking weed as I walked the Saranac River Trail that borders campus. One consistent escapist route is music. The music you’ll find in this piece contains atmospheric rhythms, wistful beats, and genre-transcendent cacophonies. It will aid you in your journey beyond reality.
Artists included in this playlist range from indie to mainstream. Shak SYrn is a spiritual musician who adds light magic to their music to raise our vibrations. Knife Girl is a trans woman from Finland who infuses Gen Z culture with experimental sound. There’s Solange and Erykah Badu, both icons who need no introduction. I threw in SOPHIE, a hyperpop pioneer, who left our world too soon after an accidental fall back in January 2021.
Listen to this playlist while you’re destressing on a weekend, running in a field of flowers, pretending to be a sea creature in the ocean, getting high on the floor of your bedroom, or looking to the stars to tell you what your life means.
1. “Ambiance” by Shak SYrn
2. “Stay (Live)” by Erykah Badu
3. “7up” by Knife Girl
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6CUPwfYKxJA
4. “Something About Us” by Daft Punk
5. “I’m Not In Love” by Kelsey Lu
6. “Sound of Rain” by Solange
7. “Reckoner” by Radiohead
8. “QUE NO SALGA LA LUNA (Cap.2: Boda)” by Rosalía
9. “Mirrored Heart” by FKA Twigs
10. “Only In My Dreams” by The Marías
11. “Human Behavior” by björk
12. “Them Changes” by Thundercat
13. “Time” by Arca
14. “Whole New World / Pretend World” by SOPHIE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jq2VeggCU_s
15. “Same Ol’ Mistakes” by Rihanna
Rina Sawayama’s Sophomore Album “Hold the Girl” Wants Us To Heal Our Inner Child
Music is in a strange era. A lot of albums being put out now are pandemic albums, ranging from “deep and introspective” to “let’s celebrate our resiliency and take our minds off the hardships of our current times.” Both are valid and necessary, but the oversaturation of these themes feels redundant. Also, artists are increasingly focusing on creating “TikTok songs.” The more viral a song is on TikTok, the more popularity an artist gains. Music production is straying away from authenticity and moving toward creating something people can do a 15-second dance to. I can’t speak for anybody else, but this is exhausting. This is all the more reason why Rina Sawayama’s Hold The Girl couldn’t have come at a better time.
Because I’m gay and dramatic, I’ve been religiously waiting for this album since May of this year. I’ve been a pixel (basically a Sawayama stan), since her debut album, Sawayama, back in 2020. She established her signature 2000s pop and alternative sound then and hasn’t looked back since. I simply had to write my thoughts on Sawayama’s sophomore album once it came out. In an interview with Pitchfork, she says the first album serves as a confrontation with her generational trauma, while the second album serves as ground for healing and reparenting herself. Even when she is singing about experiences largely framed by her pansexual, Japanese, and first-generation British identities, she still manages to achieve relatability and connection with general audiences.
Sawayama is masterful at creating bangers that handle powerful themes and have beats that feel ceremonial, otherworldly, or like you’re turning up at a club. Opening song “Minor Feelings” — heavily inspired by Cathy Park Hong’s autobiography of the same name — tackles Asian discrimination and feelings of “otherness” while also exuding theatricality with her rhythm and guitar riffs:
All my life I’ve felt out of place/
All my life I’ve been saving face/
Well, all these minor feelings
Are majorly breaking me down.
“Forgiveness” is a ballad of shifting speeds and synthetic sounds, each key amplifying Sawayama’s struggles. It reveals the path toward forgiveness isn’t linear, nor is it easy. She says it herself: “Forgiveness is a winding road.” The song’s message is amplified when you understand that Sawayama stresses that, all her life, she’s had to consider the feelings of other people around her and not her own. She’s stubborn, and there is a sense of ease with not forgiving. But keeping that resentment is like an annoying stain that can’t come off no matter how much you scrub. Overall, the song is raw and honest. Did I cry a little? Maybe so.
“Hurricanes” channels artists like Avril Lavigne and Kelly Clarkson. It’s dominated by robust vocals and a rockstar drum and guitar background. It simultaneously satiates the nostalgia many people crave today and somehow fits into today’s world. In this song, Sawayama employs weather metaphors to convey her emotions. As always, she’s unapologetically herself. She makes her feelings known, holds her ground, and I can’t help but absolutely love her for it.
Standout song of the album, “Send My Love to John”, was purposefully crafted to contrast Sawayama’s “Chosen Family.” The former song is told from the perspective of an immigrant mother struggling to accept her son’s queerness. Sawayama isn’t trying to absolve anyone’s homophobia. Instead, she is humanizing people who can easily be branded as villains and acknowledging the multifaceted nature of immigrant and cultural identities. It’s an issue you almost never hear about in pop music — or music in general.
Closing song “To Be Alive” isn’t an ending. It’s Sawayama acknowledging how far she’s come and how far she’ll continue to go. She’s finding the silver lining in everything she’s been through and allowing herself to experience pure joy. The song also has some of my favorite lyrics on the album:
Flowers still look pretty when they’re dying/
Blue skies always there behind the rain, rain/
Oceans swallow all of our feelings/
I know it’s just temporary pain, pain.
With everything Sawayama sets out to accomplish in Hold The Girl, listeners could feel overwhelmed. Some may argue that the album is too ambitious. Here’s what I have to say to that: so what? First of all, I’m a loud and proud overachiever, so I can’t talk shit. Second, at the end of the day, Sawayama wishes to heal her inner child and hopes others would be able to heal themselves as well. It’s not supposed to be a perfect process or journey. Hold The Girl now stands with Sawayama in cementing Sawayama’s status as one of the best pop stars of our generation.
I’m Sick of White Women Centering Themselves in the Struggle For Reproductive Justice
Feature image via Georgia State University Library Exhibits.
This piece has been a long time coming. On June 24th, 2022, I sat next to my mother on the couch in our family home. Some trashy reality television was probably playing in the background. I checked my phone and I see the notification from CNN on my phone.
Like so many people, the devastation I feel about the Supreme Court’s federal ban on abortions is to a point where words don’t feel adequate. We all have the right to feel our pain and express our pain. No one should dismiss or invalidate anyone’s hurt. Sharing my pain about the ruling with others – talking freely and crying out frustrations with loved ones in safe spaces – is one of the most effective ways of coping for me, personally. Community is healing.
While trying to process everything, I noticed a certain pattern of comments from tapping through Instagram stories and popular Tik Tok videos on my FYP:
“I can’t believe women no longer have reproductive justice.”
“The position of women in society is going backward.”
“Women’s rights were taken away.”
All of these comments carry truth, and I’m not trying to completely negate them. The overturning of Roe v. Wade is a major step back. But, these comments are over-generalizations. We need to be intersectional and reframe our conversations surrounding reproductive justice. Womanhood isn’t an isolated identity and it isn’t a monolithic group. What white cis women today are experiencing is what women of color have experienced for decades, for centuries. Black women are routinely denied or mistreated in reproductive healthcare to the point where the lives of Black women are at risk. Modern gynecology exists because of cruel experiments that were forced upon enslaved women in America. There is a long and extensive history of the bodies of women of color being exploited in “the name of medical progress,” misunderstood, and not receiving necessary care.
Also, these comments erase trans, gender nonconforming, and nonbinary (TGNC) folks from the fight for reproductive justice. According to the Positive Women’s Network’s page on trans-centered reproductive justice, “One in three TGNC people delayed or avoided preventive health care, like a pelvic exam of STI screening, out of fear of discrimination or disrespect. This number is even higher – almost one in two — for transgender men.” Many trans people buy hormones outside of the health care system because they do not have adequate resources to safely obtain them.
There are even worse comments like:
“You messed with the wrong generation.”
“This time, we’re serious.”
These so-called “witty” social media captions are ignorant and disrespectful to history and activists who put immense physical and emotional labor toward freedom and liberation. Also, what does “we’re” mean exactly? Who’s “we”? It seems like the people behind these comments are trying to speak for everyone and putting themselves at the center.
Time and time again, many white women only stand up when it directly affects them. As a cis Latina, I know I can’t speak for every group. I will say that I’m tired. I’m tired of the white women that come to protests in Handmaid’s Tale costumes and hold up signs that say “we are the granddaughters of the witches you couldn’t burn.” I’m tired of performative activism on social media. I’m tired of the conversations that exclude the distinct issues of women of color and TGNC people in reproductive justice.
Why has this piece been a long time coming? One reason I struggled to accept is that I was afraid of upsetting people. I was afraid of comments that went along the lines of “not everything has to be about race” (everything is about race) or “you’re blowing it out of proportion”. But, I’m not responsible for white fragility, nor should I coddle it. I don’t want my silence to contribute to the erasure of TGNC people.
Whiteness needs to be decentered from the fight for reproductive justice. I’ve always said that history is a powerful tool for transformation and rethinking – I want to share a piece of history that does just that, the history of mass sterilization and reproductive genocide of Puerto Rican women between the 1930s to 1970s.
HHR, ““Stop Forced Sterilization,” c. Rachael Romero, San Francisco Poster Brigade, 1977,” Georgia State University Library Exhibits, accessed August 26, 2022.
I learned the history of reproductive genocide in Puerto Rico during my last year of high school. I was never taught it in a class – I searched for the information on my own from a yearning to learn more about who I was and my history. During my time in a former organization on my college campus called Planned Parenthood Generation, I worked with another member of the group (and the only other woman of color in it) to organize a panel that addressed the history of the struggle for reproductive justice for women of color. I made it my mission to bring up the sterilizations and cruel experiments performed on Puerto Rican women because silence is erasure. It is my mission now to use this history to expand dominant conversations on reproductive justice.
Freedom of any kind looks different for everybody, but my favorite definition of reproductive justice is from SisterSong Women of Color Reproductive Justice Collective, which states that Reproductive Justice is the:
“human right to maintain personal bodily autonomy, have children, not have children, and parent the children we have in safe and sustainable communities.”
The only thing I’d add to that definition is that reproductive issue is a human right regardless of race, gender, class, and ability. Reproductive justice is not just a woman’s issue. It is an issue of white supremacy, colonialism, capitalism, homophobia, ableism, and transphobia. It should always be at the forefront of human rights movements regardless of whether white cis women are directly affected or not.
A quick history lesson to understand the main history lesson. Puerto Rico was originally called Borikén and was inhabited largely by Tainos. In 1493, the Spanish invaded, colonized, and renamed the island. In 1917, The United States claimed colonizer status of Puerto Rico from the Spanish-American War. Puerto Rico’s been a colony ever since, and while it’s technically labeled as a “commonwealth” or “U.S. territory”, I don’t want to use any bullshit sugarcoating or euphemisms to hide the inherent violence of colonialism. This context is critical to understand because the U.S.’s reproductive control over Puerto Rican women’s bodies was a demonstration of colonial power.
The acquisition of Puerto Rico was a part of this fantasy U.S. rulers had of Manifest Destiny. American expansion was encouraged in the name of “civilizing” nonwhite individuals in different lands. So it was basically having a white savior and god complex. There was also an enthrallment with “neo-Malthusian theory,” a belief that “population control” was essential to human survival and connected economic status with genetics. The underlying logic behind it was that the rich were rich because of “good genes” and the poor were poor because of “bad genes.” Do y’all see this pattern of coded language? Anyway, the theory also dictated that it was the responsibility of the rich to dispose of the poor or else they’d be a detriment to society and cause overpopulation. These ideas fueled the rise of eugenics, which was at the root of the mass sterilization of Puerto Rican women.
Charles Herbert Allen, a U.S.-born politician, became the first governor of Puerto Rico after the U.S. seized the island. In his view, the island was “underdeveloped” because of overpopulation and the “excess” of people needed to be “taken care of.” Fuck centuries of colonialism and the denial of sovereignty as the roots of problems within Puerto Rico, I guess.
Puerto Rico, 1960. (Hank Walker/The LIFE Picture Collection via Getty Images)
Law 116, which allowed sterilization surgeries, was passed in Puerto Rico in 1937. Health workers visited many family homes and pushed mothers to undergo hysterectomies or tubal ligations. In 1953, 17% were sterilized. In 1975, 35% were sterilized and the average age at the time of the operation was 26 years old. These surgeries were so common that they were simply called La Operación or “The Operation.” Many of these women were uninformed that these surgeries meant they would become permanently infertile and were under the impression that the inability to reproduce was temporary.
Puerto Rico was used as a laboratory by U.S. eugenicist Clarence Gamble, who tested contraceptives that were not approved by the FDA on over a thousand Puerto Rican women. The popular birth control pill we know today was tested on Puerto Rican women with the encouragement and help of Gamble. The women were informed that the drugs given to them were used to prevent pregnancy, but had no idea that they were test subjects. There were women who were severely sick, and women that died. It didn’t matter if these experiments caused irreversible damage to their bodies – they were disposable in the eyes of eugenicists. It did not matter because upper-class white women, who were the first main consumers of the pill, were able to advance their mobility.
Eventually, the trials and experiments ended. But by the end of the 1970s, one-third of all Puerto Rican women were sterilized.
The denial of reproductive freedom and autonomy has been orchestrated beyond the overturning of Roe v. Wade. This is just one of the plethora of examples of a marginalized group being denied reproductive freedom and autonomy.
James Baldwin once said “History is not the past. It is the present. We carry our history with us. We are our history.” History also isn’t a series of isolated events. Everything is connected — Law 116 and the fall of Roe v. Wade are violent demonstrations of bodies being denied autonomy. They also involve, albeit in different ways, white people elevating themselves and their power.
The first step toward whiteness being decentered in the fight for reproductive justice and implementing intersectionality in praxis and discourse is to listen to different voices from different marginalized groups. Bring women of color to the front, burn the table that allows white supremacy to flourish, and work toward building a new, more inclusive table. It’s not going to solve everything. But it’s a start.
If you would like to learn more about the dark history of sterilization in Puerto Rico, below are a few sources I recommend and where I got my information from:
Matters of Choice: Puerto Rican Women’s Struggle for Reproductive Freedom by Iris Lopez
La Operación (1982) directed by Ana Maria Garcia
Reproducing Empire: Race, Sex, Science, and U.S. Imperialism in Puerto Rico by Laura Briggs
Pretty Little Liars: Original Sin Betrays Viewers in the Series Finale
The following article contains spoilers and mentions of sexual assault.
Pretty Little Liars: Original Sin recently aired its season one finale and there is a lot to unpack. There are murder attempts, reveals of secret identities, broken trust, and nonstop thrill. Imogen, one of the new Liars in the reboot, gives birth to her baby after spending the entire season pregnant. A few episodes back, she ultimately decided to give her baby up for adoption after realizing she’s not ready for motherhood. In one of the final scenes of the finale, we find out who ends up adopting the baby.
And it’s fucking Aria and Ezra from the original Pretty Little Liars.
For those of you who may not know, Aria and Ezra are one of the main couples on the original show. Aria, a young teenager, meets Ezra, a fully grown adult, in a bar where Aria pretends to be of legal age. They flirt, make out in a bathroom, and go about their nights expecting to never see each other again. The next day, Aria goes to her high school English class and finds Ezra, who happens to be her new English teacher. Despite this, they continue their relationship. It’s a sick story of grooming, statutory rape, and an unhealthy student-teacher dynamic that’s glorified. Aria is portrayed as the cool teenager who gets to have a scandalous, yet exciting, relationship with an adult rather than a victim who lacked sexual agency. The writers frame their relationship as a forbidden love story where the characters have to fight all obstacles to be together. I. Marlene King, the executive producer and showrunner of the original Pretty Little Liars, even once called them “soulmates”.
TV has a long tradition of showing romantic depictions of student-teacher affairs. It is a problem because it is normalizing the sexual and emotional exploitation of vulnerable young people and makes it difficult for survivors of these situations to be taken seriously. However, it seems like TV shows are finally stepping away from these harmful narratives and showing student-teacher relationships for what they really are: dangerous and abusive. Pretty Little Liars: Original Sin shows this through Tabby, another girl who’s a part of the new generation of Liars. She works at a movie theatre called The Orpheum, and it is her dream to study film at NYU and become a filmmaker. Her boss at The Orpheum, Wes, knows that it’s her dream and has connections to NYU professors since he studied there. Wes serves as a mentor to Tabby not because he genuinely wants to help her pursue her passion, but because he is sexually interested in her. Wes is written as a predatory creep and when he tries to make advancements toward Tabby, she is portrayed as an uncomfortable young girl who wants to get away from him. It is a complete contrast to the romantic overtones of Aria’s and Ezra’s relationship.
Sexual violence overall is a major theme in the Pretty Little Liars reboot. Imogen and Tabby are sexual assault survivors. Angela Waters, a mysterious figure who is connected to the search for “A”, is also a sexual assault survivor. However, none of what the girls experienced is used merely for the sake of the horror genre of the show. While horror has a huge problem in portraying sexual assault, Pretty Little Liars: Original Sin manages to subvert the trope of the female victim by not letting any of the characters be defined by their sexual assault. They’re not just survivors. While Angela commits suicide prior to the show’s current setting, Imogen and Tabby live full-fledged lives and have agency. Tabby particularly establishes her agency through filmmaking — the stories she creates are of women taking back their power. The girls’ trauma is also taken seriously and is portrayed with layers of complexity and grace.
So it feels like a slap in the face when Imogen and Tabby talk about how thrilled they are to drive to Rosewood and meet the highly-esteemed Aria and Ezra, the parents-to-be of Imogen’s baby. It feels like the show betrayed and undermined everything it stood for by continuing to affirm the relationship between Aria and Ezra. It is disrespectful to viewers who experienced sexual violence.
Ironically enough, Imogen would despise Ezra and would have never given her baby to him and Aria if she knew the origins of their relationship. To have Imogen, a survivor of sexual assault whose pregnancy happened because of rape and someone who passionately stands against all forms of sexual violence, allow this couple to adopt her baby is disgusting and, frankly, a poor writing choice. If the writers wanted to make a connection to the original series, they could have had any of the other original liars or other characters from the show be the ones to adopt Imogen’s baby.
There’s been instances where creators go back to a show they worked on and change details or correct any errors they found post-production. If those who worked on the Pretty Little Liars reboot truly cared about how sexual violence is portrayed in the show, they would edit the mentions of Aria and Ezra out of the show. A public apology on Twitter or Instagram is not enough. It may seem like such a small detail that bears no significance to the story, but it disempowers the show’s overall message on sexual violence.
Opening Up at a North Country Diner
Diner Week – All Artwork by Viv Le
December 5, 2021 – Plattsburgh, NY
I never got used to the cold, North Country weather. Winters started as early as October, and they were always brutal and unforgiving. I thought this as I stepped outside of my friend’s car, bracing myself for the sharp air with nothing but a t-shirt, flannel, leggings, and Converse. Granted, I didn’t know I was going out until ten minutes prior when two friends stormed my dorm and told me the three of us were going to The Hungry Bear for brunch. Still, I could’ve been smarter about the shit-ton of snow on the ground.
Hungry Bear (nobody says the “the” in the name) was located in the middle of the Military Turnpike. I passed by it so many times on the way to Walmart throughout my college career but never noticed. The diner is small and average, a huge image of a bear about to eat a stack of pancakes at the entrance is its only distinct trait. Its outside appearance reminded me of a wood cabin. Hungry Bear’s opening in 2010 was probably one of the most exciting things to happen in Plattsburgh that year — rarely did anything major happen in the town. Still, it had an old-school energy to it.
Should I tell my friends I was freaking out and had a mental breakdown in my dorm just a couple of hours ago? How am I supposed to bring something like that up?
I didn’t know how to settle the thoughts in my head, I was out of it, and it was obvious to my friends that something was up. I regretted going as soon as I got in the car, but my friends were persistent. And I couldn’t say no to diner food (what can I say, I’m American). Fuck.
It was 13 days before graduation. Sleep was rare, and while I had insomnia for years by that point, it was worse during those last days of undergrad. Someone would think I wasn’t sleeping because, duh, I was about to graduate. It makes sense to spend your last nights of college getting lit and making lifetime memories.
Most of my last days were actually spent alone in my dorm. I was depressed that I still had nothing lined up post-graduation while my friends were graduating in May 2022 and already had jobs secured. The future was daunting and unknown. I spent most of my college years trying to be perfect, staying indoors on a Friday night instead of going out. I was graduating a virgin, and the closest I got to fucking was when I was in a situationship with another student who told me she was tired of men and interested in sexually exploring women. My neurodivergent brain made it difficult to create and maintain a lot of friendships, because there was always a wall, always the feeling of inadequacy and not belonging. Those feelings were amplified during these last few weeks.
So I didn’t get a lot of sleep. I was tired. I can’t recall the exact start of that morning, but I probably went over what I’d do that day. Finish that essay. Clean. Attend the weekly staff meeting with the other RAs in the building and our RD. Continue watching You on Netflix.
Each step incited a soft, creaking sound. Classic rock like Aerosmith and Lynyrd Skynyrd played in the background. It was chilly inside, but everywhere in Plattsburgh was cold.
The diner, I soon discovered, represented Plattsburgh as a whole. Everything there moved slowly. Everything felt like a low-budget indie film. It was quiet, somehow soft. Simple. Also, white people were everywhere. It was nothing like The Bronx. Nothing like home.
Two old white dudes in biker gear sat near us and couldn’t hide their staring and prying, but we let them get away with it, because it’s Plattsburgh. Shit like that always happens. You learn to deal with it, just like learning how to deal with Confederate flags and Trump posters all over town or University Police officers harassing students of color. A group of frat boys from our school was also at Hungry Bear, but they sat far away from us.
My friends couldn’t stop bugging me, and I knew I couldn’t hide any longer. The flow of the conversation could no longer make space for trivial ramblings on finals and what everyone did last night.
It would be okay if I just opened up. It would’ve made things a lot easier too. But there’s comfort in silence. You grow used to it. Communication and expressing my feelings have been problems since I was a toddler. I sat in my chair with my eyes glued to the menu, unable to make eye contact with my friends.
One of the best post-college decisions I made was deleting Snapchat. I never really liked it, but I had friends who used it, so I did too. Rotating through different social media apps in my twin XL bed, I opened Snapchat expecting nothing spectacular. I clicked on my friends’ stories and saw the usual weekend shenanigans. Flashing lights, liquor, shaking ass to Bad Bunny with a whole bunch of people. The flashing lights were from Retro, the only club in Plattsburgh and a club I’ve been to multiple times but never enjoyed that much.
But viewing those snaps triggered an onslaught of intrusive thoughts. They came in waves, each one forcing its way to occupy space in my mind, each one as loud as sirens.
You’re pathetic.
Your friends have more fun going out than spending time with you.
Even if you went, you wouldn’t have fit in.
You’re wasting your youth.
Why can’t you just be a normal young adult and go out?
What’s wrong with you?
Saved by the waitress, I kept deflecting and ordered french toast with bacon and berries on the side. This is my go-to at any diner. French toast because it reminds me of making it with my mom as a kid, bacon for protein, and berries for extra sweetness. I stuck with the complimentary water given to us instead of ordering a coffee or juice out of habit. When I used to go out to eat with family, none of us asked for a beverage that wasn’t water due to the extra cost. It was already a big expense to sit down and be served food. Ordering a drink that wasn’t water was a privilege. And while I could’ve spent a few more bucks and gotten something to drink, I always have that lingering fear of losing all my money and being left with nothing. At least diners are more affordable than a lot of restaurants. That’s a big reason why I love them so much.
As the waitress finished writing our orders on her notepad and left our table, deflecting was no longer an option. I mustered up the courage and spoke.
I don’t think I could put this part in pretty words. It wasn’t pretty when I spoke about it out loud to friends — there were a lot of stuttering and awkward pauses — so why should it be pretty written down?
After pacing on the hard floor with my thoughts, I grabbed the first thing I saw and threw it against the wall. It was a glass skull I got from a gift shop years ago on a family vacation to Mexico. I started throwing things when I’m upset at a young age, because articulating how I felt was a skill I lacked. I threw the fake skull as if it held all my emotions inside and breaking it would release them. But breaking something was not enough. The thoughts wouldn’t go away, and I just wanted my mind to calm down. I grabbed hand sanitizer, removed its top, and attempted to drink it. The taste was so unbearable that I spat it all out.
I Googled Greyhound trips to New York City. It felt too dangerous to be by myself in my dorm for 13 more days, and I thought things would be easier if I went home. Sure, I had to work shifts at the library, check out residents for winter break, finish my finals, and pack up my dorm. But I was scared I’d hurt myself if I stayed any longer. That fear eventually subsided, and I can’t recall any other details from that morning.
I do remember the hard knock on the door by my friends just a few hours later.
There it was. The eradication of silence. The discomfort. All of what happened out there was like an open cut. Funny enough, I was saved again by the waitress when our food came not long after I shared my story. She said hope you enjoy your food in a high-pitched voice and gave us a smile she probably used countless times on the job. Meanwhile, our faces were all too serious. Not much can kill the immaculate vibes of a diner, but mental illness can.
My friends offered comforting words as we stuffed our faces. It was almost embarrassing, having my cognitive distortions shut down by the power of friendship. One thing stuck out to me the most.
“You’re allowed to enjoy life.”
The words didn’t solve everything. I had a long way to go after our talk. They were also simple words, easy to find in a social media post. But I needed those words, because I didn’t think I deserved to enjoy life (looking back, that’s also some colonizer mentality bullshit). I needed to allow myself to enjoy life on my own terms, rather than trying to fit some mold.
What better place to start than in a diner?
I soaked my french toast in syrup, bit juice out of the ripeness of my berries, and savored bacon on my taste buds. The fruit was fresh, and the bacon was just a tad bit burnt. Just how I like it. Every bite of my french toast came with a side of memories of my mother and me in the kitchen — the stove on medium heat, our hands sticky with egg and ground cinnamon, and smiles on our faces.
Diner Week is a 12-part series of essays curated and edited by Autostraddle Managing Editor Kayla Kumari Upadhyaya.
Lesbian Jesus Rises! Hayley Kiyoko Gets Vulnerable on Sophomore Album “PANORAMA”
This summer really is for the girls, gays, and theys. We’re out at brunches and beaches. Beyoncé and Lizzo came out with new music. Oh, and the second coming of THE Lesbian Jesus, AKA Hayley Kiyoko, happened this past Friday.
PANORAMA is Kiyoko’s sophomore album, following the release of Expectations in 2018. In between that time, she released EP I’m Too Sensitive For This Shit in 2020. The album also follows the recent news of her confirmed long-term relationship with former Bachelor contestant Becca Tilley. The title of her new album is fitting: PANORAMA takes on a more mature, rounded tone. It shows that Kiyoko is more in tune with herself. In an interview with Rolling Stone, the singer stated: “I feel like I know myself more than I ever did”.
The usual pop-synthetic sounds that Kiyoko is known for are prominent throughout the album. It starts with “sugar at the bottom,” a fuck you anthem to an ex-lover who’s now “someone else’s problem.” This confidence and growth from toxic relationships are themes that appear more than once in
PANORAMA.
In “well…“, Kiyoko struts with charm and shows off her newfound growth:
“I’m looking hot as hell…/
And girl I’m gonna flaunt it…/
I know I’m doing well and everyone can tell I’m doing better than
You!”
And, yes, I’m eating it up, absolutely obsessed.
But there are more than messed-up relationships to be found on the album. We all know the “for the girls” music video is inspired by the Bachelor, the reality TV show Kiyoko’s current lover Tilley is well known for. While listening to “forever” and “deep in the woods,” I channeled my inner Carrie Bradshaw, and I couldn’t help but wonder if these romantic tracks about deep love are about Tilley. During the chorus of “deep in the woods”, Kiyoko sings:
“I know I met you in another life/
You’re unforgettable/
It’s like you’re my dream, my déjà vu, a ghost/
You’ll be right there wherever I go.”
It’s not confirmed whether or not these songs are actually about Tilley, but let’s be real. These lyrics can make any heart swell, any listener swoon.
Kiyoko has been open about feeling lost and grappling with her mental health. PANORAMA showcases these things and is arguably Kiyoko’s most vulnerable album. In “supposed to be,” she reflects on a failed relationship but doesn’t have the confidence that’s in “sugar at the bottom” or “someone else’s problem.” She wonders what’s wrong with her, why things in reality didn’t play out as what played in her head. The track “underground” starts with Kiyoko admitting “it’s hard enough to wake up” and she’s been “avoiding conversation.” Though these are raw and soft moments, Kiyoko still manages to shine bright and connect with listeners.
“Found my friends”, released as a single over a year ago, is my personal favorite song on PANORAMA. Instead of beating herself up and being her own enemy, Kiyoko makes peace with herself and becomes her own friend. It’s a sweet message that inspires us to treat ourselves with patience and kindness, which is especially important during a pandemic and constant political chaos.
There are moments where the album feels repetitive. Songs like “flicker start” and “underground” take on a far too similar sound and have the common themes of loneliness and internal struggle. The similar sound makes it difficult for songs to stand out and, after listening to the album a second time, I felt the need to skip some tracks. However, none of the songs are bad individually. They’re good to listen to on a walk to the grocery store, at a dinner party with your chosen family, or during a solo dancing session in your bedroom.
All of Kiyoko’s discography holds a special place in my heart. With the iconic song “Girls Like Girls” back in 2015 alone, she paved the way for so many queer artists and helped a whole generation of young queer people feel seen. Music is still dominated by songs of great heterosexual romances; Kiyoko’s songs of lesbian love, heartbreak, and joy disrupt that. As an adult, I still get all giddy inside just from Kiyoko singing about loving other women, because it’s refreshing to hear her lyrics after listening to all the straight love songs on the radio. I can’t stress enough her impact and the importance of her music. PANORAMA, filled with passion, vulnerability, and heart, is the newest contribution to that.
“I Feel Love: Notes On Queer Joy” Reminds Us That Suffering Is Not Our Destiny
Queerness doesn’t have to be a burden. That’s what I wish I could tell my younger, lonely, and confused self. It’s what I want to shout in crowded streets when, time and time again, dominant depictions of queer, trans, and gender variant folks involve suffering and despair.
I Feel Love: Notes On Queer Joy — an anthology edited by Samantha Mann — shows us that suffering and despair are not our destiny. Instead, the book shows us that we can achieve, and are worthy of, happiness, freedom, and love. Composed of twelve creative nonfiction, memoir, and poetry pieces by beautifully diverse writers, we see a celebration of identities and how each identity influences how each writer navigates the world. Each story serves as a vehicle for building community and connecting to something larger than the self.
Even though the anthology is centered on joy, guilt is the feeling we are first introduced to. In her foreword, Mann expresses guilt over achieving the dream: living an average domestic life with her wife, freely and legally married, with their child. She compares her life to the countless lives of LGBTQ+ individuals that were cut too short or were limited by laws, social attitudes, and other similar forces. Mann describes this inner dilemma as “survivor’s guilt” — why does she get to have it all while so many others have not? Her happiness exists because generations before her paved the way for it, and while the book’s main goal is to rewrite the narrative of queer lives, it also honors our queer elders who fought hard for things to be the way they are today. We should appreciate what our elders went through and allow ourselves to relish in the outcomes of their efforts. We should also continue their hard work.
All the contributors of the anthology go into detail about how they found their queer joy. For Esther Mollica in “You Gotta Have A Little Faith,” that joy was found in kissing another woman at a gay bar. For Greg Mania in “Permanent Record,” he found his by getting tattoos. What I love most about this collection of stories is how it shows how joy and discovery can be embodied in myriad ways — there is no right, single way to reach them. Another thing I loved about the stories as a whole is how each of them felt like they were being told by a friend. Like the writer and I were sitting down drinking coffee, the writer unafraid to show their messiness and fuckupedness to me as they share their story.
Em Win, one of Autostraddle’s lovely team writers, eloquently writes about their complicated relationship with religion in “Rings and Other Shapes I’ve Known.” Win displays the tension between God and sexuality and goes through the personal journey of finding reconciliation. While there are funny moments such as getting a purity ring because of the Jonas Brothers or partying in a $5 kiddie pool from Walmart, there is also the larger theme of desiring to be something you’re not because it’s what you believe you should be:
“I enjoyed the social exhilaration of straightness and assumed the role of a public heterosexual. I invited boys to proms, I went on celibate dates, and I became obsessed with the idea of “FBO” (Facebook Official)… More than anything, I wanted to fit in with girls who seem to have it all together: the skinny, white, girls with Christian bible studies and a ring before spring (A cultural phenomenon in the evangelical world where senior girls get proposed to by the Spring semester of their senior year).”
Going off on the subject of intersectional identities, I especially appreciated stories that weren’t just about queerness. In “The Ridiculous Flamingo Dilemma,” Aïda Yancy’s Black, neurodivergent, and mother identities hold just as much importance as her queer identity. They are interconnected and influence one another. It seems obvious that we are kaleidoscopes of identities. We’re not just the neighbor across the street or the classmate that sat to the far left of the classroom. However, in hegemonic LGBTQ+ communities, exclusion and oppression are rampant. White supremacy operates in LGBTQ+ communities. Ableism exists in LGBTQ+ communities. These communities are just as capable of erasure as hetero-dominant and cis-dominant spaces.
It feels fitting to have read Mann’s anthology during Pride Month. Beyond the pages, I’ve seen queer joy all around me. At New York City’s Dyke March, I saw someone express how whole they were at their first pride event, their happiness affirmed by their partner who placed a gentle kiss on their lips. I’ve seen it at the school I work for, with an eighth grader proudly displaying their rainbow and trans flags in their hair. I’ve seen it in myself when I’m cooking dinner with my partner or we’re reading books together in bed. Queer joy is everywhere. Queer joy is in us, whether it travels inside our bloodstream or it’s waiting to be found. Each writer in I Feel Love has found it. Read their stories. If you, dear reader, think queer joy is an impossible destination, you’re damn wrong.
Revisiting “The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions,” 45 Years Later
Past me held the belief of walking alone. While a lot of that was rooted in personal issues, I strongly believe that a part of it was influenced by where I’m situated. The United States is a culture of individualism and self-reliance — we are taught to prioritize ourselves over community.
It’s horrifying to walk alone. There’s a war on reproductive health. Books are being banned left and right. Gun violence is rampant and nothing is being done about it because our lives are disposable in the eyes of the state. In such a climate, how do we keep going? How can we carry this much collective trauma and fear? We can cope by daring to be un-American: turning to one another for support. Individualism (I like to say “self-obsessed selfishness”) is killing us. Community is the vehicle for healing, a tool for survival, and a key to liberation. Larry Mitchell’s The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions, a manifesto/fable from 1977, teaches us this.
I’ll admit I didn’t know this book at all until a few months ago when someone introduced it to me. I borrowed it thinking it’d be hilarious to read in public spaces and have people give me questionable stares. Discarded after reading the first 20 pages, that mentality was replaced by the desire to build bridges. Mitchell’s book is pretty underground — a free and accessible PDF of it circulates among niche groups on the internet. Its status as a lowkey book allowed it to remain untainted, to exist as a relic for the people instead of a cog in capitalism’s machine. However, I think it’s finally time The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions gets the recognition it deserves. A book focused on marginalized groups empowering one another needs to be a resource in community organizing and mutual aid.
Largely influenced by the author’s life in a queer commune called Lavender Hill and gay culture pre-HIV/AIDS, the book takes place in the dystopian empire Ramrod. “The men” are heteropatriarchal, fascist rulers of Ramrod that make it hard for “the faggots” and their friends. Poverty, chaos, and militarism are omnipresent in the fictional society, and revolution is long overdue. However, despite it all, the faggots still thrive by sticking together. They have parties under the moon with fairies, relish in orgies and “delicious orgasm juice,” and have feasts with the “women who love women.” They don’t call themselves faggots because of self-deprecation. Claiming the term comes from a place of agency and self-determination – the faggots are deliberately separating themselves from their oppressors. The term allows them to establish their comradery.
While fantastical scenes of ecstasy and psychedelic drawings from illustrator Ned Asta are distinct in The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions, the book shines the most in its quiet moments. One of the characters, Heavenly Blue, falls into a deep depression due to his living conditions. What moved him toward a better mental state was accepting help from his friends:
“Lilac and Pinetree and Moonbeam and Loose Tomato and Hollyhock gathered. They held Heavenly Blue in their arms for days, they let him cry and stare and slobber and scream and be silent. They paid the bills and looked after the roof and watched the street for strange men and talked to the neighbors and Hollyhock kept himself happy. Their house filled up with comfort and routine and gladness until Heavenly Blue could no longer resist and became response-able again.”
His depression is a mirror of what many of us go through. Rent is too damn high and the 9-5 work system kills our spirits. Queer and trans people, BIPOC, disabled folks, and anyone else who’s ever been labeled as “other” can’t fucking live in peace and autonomy. How can anyone be expected to be a ray of sunshine when there are structures against your very existence? It’s underestimated how much systematic oppression threatens our mental health.
Of course, the book isn’t a perfect model for political action in 2022. Conversations on issues such as race and ableism are nonexistent. Mitchell doesn’t note that queer communities themselves are heterogeneous, and can mimic the oppression and exclusivity executed by heteropatriarchal institutions. The book’s concept was conceived from the lack of contemporary gay literature in the 1970s. While queer representation still has a long way to go, we’ve come far since 1977. If we want to move forward with intersectional and transnational frameworks, the book is, frankly, not a go-to. Like with all things, we can take the book and expand from it.
You don’t have to perform huge, elaborate actions to make a political difference. Sometimes it is enough to give your neighbor the space to cry. Cultivate, cherish, and support queer families. Take The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions, a queer relic, and turn it into a step toward a revolutionized world.
Check out The Faggots and Their Friends Between Revolutions here.