CLH Words

Content warning for this piece: Discussion of threats of violence and use of the f-slur

Side note: Please check out the work of Sky Cubacub at Rebirth Garments out of Chicago. Sky’s work as a queercrip fashion designer and their zine on radical visibility have shaped my thought on queer joy and expressing it through art and fashion. I had the pleasure of being a model for a show they did a couple years back. They truly are doing wonderful things. While this piece is not about them or their work, anytime I think about my jewelry and queer visibility I think of them.

               I make chainmail. I started in high school because I am a nerd and wanted armor (okay let’s be real: I still am a nerd. I recently got into leatherworking because….I want armor). About a year ago a good friend asked me to make them a rainbow bracelet out of chainmail to show off their pride. Since then, I have started making and selling necklaces, earings, bracelets, and other various items.

               I sell at various local events, from a neighborhood art walk to the farmers market in my hometown. I don’t do these events for the money. While the money is nice and helps off set the cost of supplies, I enjoy giving people my art. While not all the things I make are pride related, most of the ones I sell are. I love being able to meet local queer folks and help them express pride. In fact, I will often give away stuff for free or at a discount to queer folks, as they will often express that they love it but can’t afford it (we are severally un(der)employed as a community). In short, I love spreading queer joy with my art.

               I got called a faggot at the last event I sold at. I was at my hometown’s farmers market where I sell with my mom. My hometown is somewhat rural, with a population of 20,000 or so that leans pretty right. We made the news last year because neo-Nazi’s showed up with assault riffles to “protest” (aka intimidate and threaten) our Pride celebration. Yet, I found connection there, a queer community. In high school I was part of the GSA. When I moved back for a while last year, I found adults who were organizing events and part of a community. Every farmers market I had people commenting on my pride jewelry or my mom’s pride crochet. Queer people exist there, and I feel their joy. Yet, I was called a faggot.

               My mom sells under the name Proud Mom Creations, with a rainbow sign and many colorful crocheted animals. A man walked past, read her sign, and said “fucking faggots” as he walked away. That stung. First off, I’m clearly a dyke. Second, I knew the implications behind it. I remembered the neo-Nazis the year before. The threats to the GSA in high school.

               My mom told the market organizer, a cishet woman, about what happened. She was distraught and angry for us, but there was nothing she could do. The organizer had been supportive from the start, glad even to have us. It reminded me of my (presumably) cishet teacher in high school who started the GSA. There are allies in my hometown.

               I spread queer joy by being at that market. By existing and giving others a chance to see me, and show their pride. There is queer joy in my hometown because there are queer folks. We make our own joy. Yet, there are those who will see that joy and call us faggots. Will march with assault riffles to threaten our joy, our lives. We need to continue showing up, continue making our joy, continue meeting and making those allies who will show up for us. This is what I thought of in the weeks since that market. I know that I spread a lot more joy than that man did. And I know I will continue to.