CLH Words

For more on my chainmaille, including to request commissions, visit chamscharmsandchains.com . To learn more about the amazing work Sky Cubacub is doing (and check out their amazing zine! It’s how I first found out about their work), visit their site rebirthgarments.com

I make chainmaille. I have for years. I started in high school and never stopped. I first picked it up because, well, I am a huge nerd and wanted armor. But it was more than that. It was an outlet for me. A way to force myself to move and to make something tangible. Since my early days, I have come a long way in my craft. Yet, looking back I see that at the heart, my maille has always been an expression of trans joy.

               I wanted armor. I didn’t feel right in my body. I did not know I was trans in high school. I had my suspicions, a gut feeling, an ache that wouldn’t go away, but I couldn’t know it fully. I knew I wanted something different, something about myself needed to change. And armor is fucking cool. If I had armor I would be cool too. Maybe this ache I felt but ignored would finally let up. So I started making chainmaille.

               I started with a shirt. I spun the rings myself out of steel wire. It was sloppy, hard work, and I didn’t quite know what I was doing (damn this metaphor really fits…). It took me years to complete the shirt. I had my armor. It was heavy—it was grounding. The shirt was baggy, hiding my shape. I felt a joy at it. It felt right to wear. It felt like protection from the world. An outer layer so that they wouldn’t see the me beneath. The wrongness of me beneath.

               A shirt down, I didn’t know where to go next. I kept at it though. Separately, I started my transition. College really let me bloom. The ache of wrongness lifted, at least partly.  I participated in a queercrip fashion show at my college. The designer, Sky Cubacub of Rebirth Garments, used scalemaille in some of their work. We chatted, and I was inspired to work with scale.

               Sky Cubacub calls for bright colors and jarring patterns in their work. Fashion that refuses to hide, to conform. My journey into scalemaille met that calling. It took the safety I felt in my armor and added a layer of color and sharpness to it. It said that I am here, I am safe, but damn it I will take up space. I know longer needed to hide from the world, but instead could be myself in it.

               Soon after, I made my first bracelet, a gift for a friend. I used the progress flag, taking the colors, weaving them into bracelet form. It was flashy yet simple. The safety to be yourself. The protection of armor that is my joy in being me. Showing the world who I am, and protecting me from it.

               I continued making jewelry, often using pride flags. I made items for my friends, sold at local events to spread the joy. Eventually I was inspired to add a razor blade to a necklace. I am somewhat of a punk. While I never fully embrace the subculture, I enjoy what I do see of it. And damn, do razor blades in jewelry count. The world says that trans people are dangerous, a menace to society. To me, these blades say that yes, we can cut. They say that maybe we are a little dangerous to the status quo. The armor that keeps me safe from the world that would see me dead can also cut back. The joy I feel for who I am cuts those who hate me for being trans.

               Yet, someone recently showed me a different inturpertation of razor blades. A teen who used to self harm commissioned a trans bracelet with a blade attached to remind themself that they had survived. It is not easy being trans in a world that wants trans people dead. These blades can be a reminder of that pain. The pain we sometimes turn on ourselves to try and deal with the pain the world inflicts on us. Yet for this piece, I added trans chains half over the blade, like vines growing over something long buried. Because we can heal. We can learn to love ourselves. The joy we find can grow over past scares. The armor we wear can save us from ourselves.

               I am an artist. I do not always see it, but I know I am. I put the joy I feel for myself and my community into my pieces. I make art to keep us safe, to show the world who we are, and to keep us together. We will survive these times, and I am making the armor we will wear while fighting.