Pop Couture:
Contextualising the intersections within cultural multiplicity,
queer identity, DIY practice, and material culture.
Graduate Thesis by Laurence Sabrine
Abstract:
This research paper conceptualises pop cultures archetypes through cultural multiplicity, queer identity and DIY practice. Drawing on first-hand experience as a queer person of colour, I present my personal connections to secondhand materials, DIY practice and pop culture. In the first section, I provide a background for material culture, punk, and DIY practice and present their connections to queer and Filipino culture, intersected with contemporary art/fashion parallels. Finally, I examine the materials and processes, originating from DIY practice, in relation to its relevance within my body of work and to the broader scope of contemporaries. The relevance of this paper is to create conversations within intersectional identity as a queer person of colour, contextualised within pop culture and fashion practice.
Keywords: queer theory, Filipino culture, DIY practice, punk culture, secondhand clothing, material culture, subculture, pop culture archetypes, uniforms
Introduction
“Get’cha head in the game!” Troy Bolton paraded around a dramatically lit basketball court as he sang about his conflicting love for the game and Gabriella Montez. By the time the film passed its six-month-mark after being released, I had exhausted every lyric and memorised every scene. It was truly an obsession. High School Musical was an evident product of the 00s; the plot juggled an impressive balancing act of emotional drama and a high production musical; all set in high school, of course. But the story wouldn’t be complete without a Paris-Hilton-wannabe as the antagonist, guarded by her pocket-size chihuahua, her classic blonde hair, and her love of the colour pink.
Through constant media consumption, I became fascinated by pop culture’s fabricated version of identity. With the rise of the internet and online presence in the 00’s, identity has been pushed to a parodied sense of self in its extravagance. In regards to online presence, the birth of social media has encouraged the careful curation of identity. Many subcultures have become mainstays in the pop culture mythos through popular media; from starlets on tabloids to scene kids on MySpace. But as each subculture shifts into an archetype,—moreso, a pop culture archetype—conventions of dress, manner, and jargon become coded with it as well. An archetype is defined as “an original pattern from which copies are made” (Harper. Online Etymology Dictionary.) In the same sense, a pop culture archetype is a concise character body which summarises a significant subject; in this case, subcultures within a pop culture context.
As for the pop culture archetypes, I have chosen seven with the strongest relationship to (a) my identity and experiences as a queer Filipino-New Zealander, and (b) pop culture in the decade of the 00s. The cowboy, the goth, the it girl, the skater, the beauty queen, the schoolgirl, and the bride—although some have gendered titles and history, this does not entail the gender of the model that will be in the garment but rather the gender of the pop culture archetype that is of the name.
This research paper conceptualises pop culture archetypes through a queer Filipino perspective, and its visualisations through various materials, processes, and dress situated within ‘do-it-yourself’, practice. Exploring the social complexities of identity and dress, I examine these archetypes and subcultures through a personal narrative, while simultaneously visualising this concept through modes of customisation, improvisation, and do-it-yourself.
‘Do-it-yourself’, or DIY in short, is a term that originated from a 1912 American home decoration magazine. “It introduced the term as a cost-saving measure, a way to cut back on hard times, and while it may have added something new to the American lexicon, it hardly introduced a new idea.” (Luvaas 3.) DIY, as an abbreviation, will be used in relation to DIY practice, queer DIY, DIY production, etc.
I reference writing by Curran Nault on DIY Queer Production. Although Nault’s research focuses on DIY methods in relation to queer cinema and indie film production, I explore DIY practice in relation to dress and fashion to visualise my narrative as a queer Filipino situated in New Zealand. I also reference Lynne B. Milgram’s research on the Filipino secondhand trade of ukay-ukay. I extend this idea of ‘material culture’ into pop culture archetypes and subcultures pertaining to quasi-uniforms (Craik 82.)
In terms of materials and processes, I explore the usage of ‘secondhand’—found, given, and/or bought used—clothing, materials, objects, etc., and it’s social and visual implications. The MET’s Punk: Chaos to Couture exhibition explores punk as an aesthetic (Bolton 12) while Kaat Debo’s writing on Maison Martin Margiela’s ‘20’ exhibition examines the designer’s ideologies within their body of work. Both of these research pieces become vital to my research as a way of grounding the idea of DIY in a social and fashion context.
I use the term ‘queer’ throughout the paper as an umbrella term for persons who identity as non-heterosexual and/or non-cisgender. Though ‘queer’ was used most commonly as a slur meaning “odd, strange, or irregular” (Tamanna i-D.com,) the term will be used as a form of reclamation and positive identification, following the footsteps of the those who have come before. ‘Queer’ is referred to in the context of the ‘queer’ community, ‘queer’ DIY, etc.
I use personal narrative to help understand the intersections within DIY practice, secondhand clothing, my identity as a queer Filipino-New Zealander and its relationships to my collection as a whole. In relation to my identity I use Filipino-New Zealander to identify the overlap of my identity; being of Filipino descent and having lived in New Zealand from a young age.
Identity, Culture, and Dress:
Pop Culture Archetypes, DIY Practice, Queer Theory and Material Culture
Subcultures and dress are social frameworks that are often linked, constantly feeding into each other’s working systems. Craik defines a subculture as “a social group that defines itself in opposition to dominant values, beliefs and codes. [Subcultures] reject mainstream power relations, authority and status hierarchies by establishing a counterset of meanings, hierarchies, values and modes of appearance as a visible sign of symbolic resistance.” (Craik 182) Respectively, dress, both the textiles and clothing, “mediate between self and society” (Kuypers and Bengtson 1973 in Milgram 139) acting as “foils for self-definition and an anchor for the self-historising subject” (Hoskins 1998 in Milgram 137.) This relationship between subculture and dress can be simply explained as the concept of material culture. Milgram explains that “objects play integral roles in the construction, maintenance, and transformation of social relations and identities” (Milgram 137.) The subcultural dress, phrased by Craik as quasi-uniform, of the archetypes I have explored all fit into popular film and/or fashion tropes.
Material culture theory in practice can be seen in Juliana Huxtable’s work as an artist and writer. Huxtable’s The Seven Archetypes (2012-2013) is a series of photographs and writing pieces that respond to “popular black household art” (Huxtable 0:31:29) through a contemporary lens, revisualised through black-transwomanhood. Her visual works often critique socio-political issues pertaining to a “complex juncture of gender, queerness and race”. The original purpose of black household art to subvert the image of the white man as the norm. But what Huxtable does is that she recontextualises these images as a way of creating conversation within a system that has normalised the “white, bourgeois, hetero, [and cis] norms of body and behaviour” (Nault 67.) Her aim with The Seven Archetypes series was to “infiltrate outside of the circle that [she is] directly involved in” (Huxtable 0:31:29,) giving the examples of the warrior black woman, and black Jesus, often used as a metaphor for “the persecution of the black struggle” (Huxtable 0:32:58.) “[Popular black household art] takes these images that are seductive on a base level but loads them with political metaphors in a [...] subtle psychoanalytic way [to] suggest explicitly political messages” (Huxtable 0:33:25.) Huxtable traded in the warrior’s armour for camouflage cargo pants paired with a sports bra, high-cut army boots, bantu knots and hoop earrings; instantly recognisable objects from the 00s. She also takes the trope of the mountain backdrop, often appearing in these art pieces, and replaces the mountain with black panther fur. It is within these alterations that Huxtable constructs new narratives and furthers conversation of black-transwomanhood. Huxtable’s work acts as a parallel for my collection, through the use of pop culture archetypes recontextualised onto a queer Filipino body.
By delving into these distinct subcultures and their individual conduct (dress, manner, jargon, lifestyle etc.) and creating a collection where each body is a concise representation of a specific subculture, I construct a brand new narrative, essentially a quasi-bricolage, that brings different connotations and meanings when these bodies are pieced together. David and Cruz, writing about the bakla pageant scene in Manila, Philippines, explore this idea of transformation. For the models, and in their case, the pageant contestants, “identities were not formed simply elsewhere and brought onstage ready-made; rather “participation in such a public is one of the ways by which members’ identities are formed and transformed.”” (Warner in David and Cruz 31.) Each body personifying their specific subculture, not only embodies their distinct quasi-uniforms (Craik 82), but with the participation of the audience “carve out new worlds” (David and Cruz 31) and essentially create a whole new narrative, deviating from their pop culture counterpart.
Through various interactions with fashion and the mainstream, punks have made the leap from an underground subculture to an archetypal pop culture figure with a distinct quasi-uniform. Punk as a subculture was built on resistance through visibility, celebrating “originality, authenticity, and individuality” (Bolton 12.); a subculture that is, at its core, an anti-capitalist critique on the dominant public. Moreover, punks fostered the anthem “No Future”, “that life was without purpose, without prospect, and [...] without promise” (Bolton 12); this nihilist ideology visualised through their distinctive quasi-uniform. Not only did punks have an almost apocalyptic attitude, there was an “infantilism to punk [...] and the [...] cry of “No Future”, expressed a desire to stay young forever” (Bolton 12.) Punks created their distinct “look” through modes of DIY, namely categorised within ““Hardware,” “ Bricolage,” “Graffiti and Agitprop [Agitation Propaganda],” and “Destroy” (Bolton 14.)
DIY is “production, above content” (Nault 66), an anti-capitalist response to a capitalist system, prizing “intimacy and amateurism as a critique” (Nault 66). DIY as a practice also encouraged imitation, often through simple techniques and the usage of directly available resources. “It [obliterated] the dividing line between creator and consumer” (Nault 67.) But most importantly, at the core of it all, DIY is “a practice that those with the least amount to lose—and the greatest amount of free time and cultural capital—can most casually exercise” (Nault 67.)
DIY practice has been used as a survival method for queer people through history. “For those of us [in this case, queer people] who adopt this as a way of life, DIY means taking our lives into our own hands, assuming responsibility for our own success, and dictating the terms of our own commodification” (Luvaas 2.) As queer people, we are often forced to create our own space within the public because our narratives, identities, and politics are deemed in opposition to the “white, bourgeois, hetero norms of body and behaviour.” In a patriarchal and heteronormative social system, it is “an act of defiance” to be authentic in a “system that keeps difference off-scene or conservatively contained” (Nault 67.) There is substantial evidence and historical accounts of queer narratives being kept “off-scene”, seen as grotesque, unnatural or obscene. In pop culture, specifically film and music, queer narratives were “deemed taboo” (Nault 67) and required “censorship” (Nault 67) as a way of upholding the ideals of the public. Nault continues:
“It is no surprise then that there has been a historical alignment between queer creation and DIY practice: to depict the intricacies of queer existence, queerfolk have had virtually no other choice than to do it themselves.” (Nault 67)
This cut-and-paste mode of production is not only vital to one’s well-being as a mode of expression but as a method of survival. As punks visualised their contention with the public through DIY, queer people have done the same. While punks were defined by plaid, safety pins, and mohawks however, many queer people resorted to dress-up; whether through club, drag, or kink, it was all about transformation. Like the dominant public with identity, queer culture has always been obsessed with pop culture, often using pop archetypes as costume as a vehicle for self-expression. But to be visibly queer means to trade in safety for freedom. However, being visibly queer “in the modern political sense is to be at odds with normative values of work and family and, correspondingly, consumer capitalism” (Nault 68.) So, if queer culture and the DIY practice are both critiques on capitalism, then to be queer is to be autonomous in nature; “Queers have had to blaze their own [...] paths because “the institutional man was not going to support this.”” (Nault 67.)
From punks with safety pins to queer people with glitter, “objects play integral roles in the construction, maintenance, and transformation of social relations and identities” (Milgram 137.) Objects—in this case, clothing, accessories, makeup, etc.—contain social connotations that carry, sometimes hidden, meanings that appear when contextualised in different ways. Creating a quasi-uniform that resembles a specific subculture is about choosing the right objects to collate together. Identities encompass a bigger scope which pertains to “master narratives and cultural scripts” (Milgram 138,) consisting of “plots, characters, settings, and material culture” (Milgram 138.) This master narrative that Milgram talks about is often contextualised through spaces. In relation to my work, there are two major cultural contexts at play and in constant conversation: Philippines and New Zealand. Being of Filipino descent, and growing up in the Philippines at a young age and in New Zealand since age ten speaks to a cultural multiplicity that I experience on a day-to-day basis. As well as being queer, there is a subtle narrative that plays out where these seemingly separate units constantly interact. Moreso, space doesn’t have to mean physical grounded environments but also the areas we inhabit, implying the space within clothing.
Milgram’s research examines the Filipino secondhand trade of ukay-ukay: a marketplace sector where vendors sell imported clothing in large piles or on industrial clothing racks, often sold at a cheaper price than the original item. As a child of a middle class immigrant Filipino family, secondhand clothing was a significant part of my life—whether through charity shops, ukay-ukays and hand-me-downs. Growing up in the Philippines, buying or receiving secondhand had positive connotations. I recall my titas and titos (aunts and uncles) sending huge balikbayan boxes from America filled with clothes, shoes, bags, etc. a couple times a year. A balikbayan box is a package that a family member, who has migrated overseas, sends to their country of origin as a way of gifting items from a place of better economy. I also remember going to street markets with my lola (grandmother) and looking through the ukay-ukays. In Filipino culture, ukay-ukays are less about shopping at a cheaper price but about using global trends and imported clothing as a point of purchase.
Migrating to New Zealand created an underlying shamefulness with buying secondhand. Charity shops, or thrift-stores, and hand-me-downs became a go-to for my parents as a way of saving money as we settled into the country. But as I got older, the taboo nature of secondhand clothing became less relevant as it circled back into mainstream trends. More importantly, as I grew into my own as a queer person, thrift-stores became the main source of clothing as I began earning my own income. Personal style became essential to my well-being as a queer person as “it [opened] up possibilities for agentive creation of identity through the manipulation of appearance’” (Jones and Leshkowich 7 in Milgram 140.) Thrift-shopping is not only of ethical significance but also of inexpensive, valuable purchases. The culture around thrift-shopping is the hard labour and sheer luck of finding a unique piece of clothing for a great price. It is within this process where a seemingly one-of-a-kind garment is used as a commodity to increase its overall worth.
Materials and Processes:
Secondhand Clothing, DIY Style, and Maison Martin Margiela
The choice of using exclusively secondhand clothing and materials is situated within my identity as a queer Filipino-New Zealander. The familiarity of this process is one of a personal account. The process of thrift-shopping is completely reliant on the items in the store in the moment of being there—clothing, fabrics, and other materials. There is much more hard work put into this process as it’s about open-mindedness that keeps it from becoming an exhausting chore. Shopping, in this sense, is as much a part of the design process as choosing fabrics from your local fabric store would usually be. I would even argue that it is more important as one has to invest more time into being in the right place at the right time.
Thrift-stores could also be seen as a subtle critique on commodity fetishism, a Marxist critique of political economy. The main reason that these stores exist is to benefit those of lower economic status by selling used but good quality items at a much lower price than the item was originally sold for. The employees are often volunteers, mostly elderly, who work in their free time. Often times, thrift-stores are community-based; for the people, by the people. Thrift-stores provide a more personal and ethical shopping experience, in comparison to large corporational retail stores where business is their main goal.
In regards to the intimacy of a thrift-shopping experience, one encounter stood out the most. In the summer holidays, I went to visit some thrift-stores in Lower Hutt. Before walking into one store, I had spotted a sign, “3 for $1”, over big basket of keychains, all varying in shapes, colours, etc. I figured that I would buy some for an embroidery test, a possible substitute for beading. I bought fifteen and a lovely lady had given them to me for three dollars. Without much thought, I went back after a couple of weeks. The same lady was sitting behind the counter and she had recognised me from a few weeks prior. I went up to her and asked how much it would be for the entire basket of keychains.
“The whole thing?” Her eyes widened with shock.
“Ten dollars,” she hesitated before saying “and like us on Facebook.” She chuckled.
She then proceeded to ask about my intention with the keychains. I told her I was a fashion student using secondhand materials as part of my collection.
She stood up from her stool behind the counter and lead me to a fabric basket, about twice the size of a standard wheelie bin. It was full of clothing they were planning on discarding.
“Take whatever you want,” she said, “I know how hard it is to be a student sometimes.” There is a subtle encouragement that exposes itself in this experience. In regards to corporational retail stores, to be gifted merchandise is almost an insult to capitalism. Given that a thrift-store’s main goal is to give back to the community, acquiring these fabrics and materials could be seen as an ongoing collaboration with the areas I have grown up in. This process, above all, is intensely anti-capitalist.
This almost unnoticeable critique on commodity fetishism is an important aspect of Maison Martin Margiela’s work as a designer, specifically in the Artisanal collection. Margiela was “partial to materials with a momentary character and to throwaways of little commercial value” (Debo, 2008, 9,) often using secondhand clothing and disposable materials—most notably the sock sweater, and the porcelain plate waistcoat. Commodity fetishism is, as Karl Marx explains:
“how consumer culture alienates us from our own labour through the strict separation of the process of production from that of consumption. The foundation for the real value of a commodity, human labour, is thus masked and necessarily leads to commodity fetishism.” (Marx in Debo 9.)
Martin Margiela, whose work mainly revolved around the past, the body, and the value of clothing, visualises these four expressions of punk’s DIY style and recontextualises them through his own ideas. This philosophy can be seen in the work; sectioned in his ‘20’ exhibition as Trompe-l’œil, Incognito, Time & Body, Durée/Destroy, and Paint. Margiela used secondhand clothing and disposable materials for bricolage, interested in valuing objects for a long period of time. He used white paint, as quasi-graffiti, to symbolise “the strength [...] and the fragility of the passage of time” (Debo 10.) And he also visualised “destroy” through the construction process and “[designing] garments that look tattered and worn, but which, on closer inspection, are not” (Debo 9.) Focusing on Time & Body, Durée/Destroy, and Paint, in conjunction with techniques of DIY practice and punk culture, I combine these methods as a way of visualising a queer counterpart of the seven pop culture archetypes—the cowboy, the goth, the it girl, the skater, the beauty queen, the schoolgirl, and the bride.
The similarities with thrift-stores’ and Margiela’s critique on commodity fetishism is the shifted focus of where value is placed. Both parties focus on the hands at work; “‘Luxury’ [for Margiela] does not point to the use of valuable fabrics, but instead refers to the number of hours of labour invested in the production of a certain garment” (Debo 9.) Thrift-stores reiterate the importance of a personal shopping experience, as opposed to large fashion chains. As a parallel, ‘luxury’ within my personal body of work is within the fabrics, construction and embellishments; but most importantly, the hands at work within these processes. This attention to detail implies an haute couture critique—like how Maison Martin Margiela’s Artisanal collection was a “response to the haute couture of the traditional fashion system.” (Debo 9.)
In terms of fabrics and materials, I will be using common garments and materials that can be found in most thrift-stores. This is an aspect of this shopping process that will, more or less, stay consistent. It is within the fabric, clothing size, wear, etc. that the article of clothing will change. I will also be using other materials within the work either as embellishment on the garments or as accessories on the body. The garments and materials I have acquired, from before its conception, has a story; whether found, given, and/or bought.
Denim, t-shirts, suits, shirts, knitted sweaters and mesh are all garments and fabrics that are of common use in everyday life as well as a contemporary fashion context. But the fascination with these fabrics is within each of their different uses. Denim, for example, began as “an ideal fabric for workwear” for its durability (McClendon 11.) But over the past few decades, denim has symbolised “youth, rebellion, sex, and the ever-ephemeral quality of “cool”” (Mclendon 11).
As embellishment and accessories, I will be using a variety of hardware materials in relation to the DIY practice and punk. Chains, repurposed from necklaces, etc., will be used as a substitute for embroidery to symbolise the reclamation and appropriation of oppressive language and acts. “Queer, until very recently, was predominantly considered a negative one” (Tamanna i-D.com.) The origin of the word meant “odd, strange, or irregular” (Tamanna i-D.com.) It wasn’t until the 90s that the word was reclaimed “as a middle finger to the heteronormative society that used it for decades to oppress them” (Tamanna i-D.com.) Keychains, specifically ones used as business propaganda, will be appropriated as quasi-beading, deeming them useless from their original purpose. It is the corporate capitalist framework that is dismantled using these keychains, made for propaganda, as decoration on clothing. Rhinestones will also be used as a polished alternative for glitter, commonly associated with the queer community. The substitution of classic embellishments implies a subtle nod to couture. As well as a nod to Margiela and the punk subculture, this process “appropriates from haute couture [in] its labour-intensive handwork, and creation of unique items” (Debo 9.)
As an homage to punk’s graffiti and Margiela’s use of paint, spraypaint and house paint will be used as a way of visualising resistance against the dominant public. Whereas spraypaint will be used to symbolise youth and its spontaneity, house paint will be used to represent the power and strength in resistance. Stencils and clothing pens will be used as a substitute for screen-printing, representing the agitprop of the punks.
As a fashion designer, my work navigates within circles or art, dress, and fashion. Like Richard Hodges, an archaeologist who has written on techniques of the Japanese Boroboro, “my career [is] devoted to place-making. Each excavation has involved the making of a bond with the past as well as the present.” (Hodges 8.) Hodges continues:
“An archaeologist’s past is woven of these textures. The colours of the soil, in sun and rain; the discoveries of benchmarks in history; and, above, all, the making of places with people, knowing that these places will live but never quite as fully without the vitality of the people.” (Hodges 12.)
It is through the process of deconstruction/reconstruction that my duty as a designer is comparable to that of an archaeologist. As I disassemble the seams of these garments, one form becomes a much more vital part of another. Like Margiela’s philosophy on Durée/Destroy, these seemingly ‘new’ garments mirror their old counterpart in a Frankenstein-like resemblance. These articles of clothing are “remodelled by hand” (Debo 9), like Margiela’s Artisanal collection, where they “merely [reshuffle] the materials to reproduce the old in always novel constellations” (Debo 9.) It is within the process of deconstructing/reconstructing these pieces that the previous garment gains a new narrative; secondhand in the sense that it has a past, but new in the same sense that it is a novel form. Each ‘new’ garment will contain subtle hints of its history through techniques of bricolage.
Patchwork and panelling will be used as a visualisation for bricolage in my work. Secondhand fabrics will symbolise the intersections of identity in relation to human experience. This acts as a visualisation for the multiplicity in my identity as a queer Filipino-New Zealander. Each ‘old’ article of clothing used as ‘new fabric’ is a parallel to this identity; although it may be visually unified as a garment, each panel has a story before its conception and connection to my work—each part of my identity does not circulate singularly but interact without failure.
Dyeing and bleaching will represent the vulnerability of visibility as queer person in a social framework that has normalised “white, bourgeois, hetero, norms of body and behaviour” (Nault 67.) This process of recoloration will visualise the internal struggle of being a queer person raised in a religious household. While Margiela has used frayed seams as a way of exposing hidden processes within the fashion industry, the use of frayed seams in my work will symbolise the transparency of visibility as a queer person.
Pleats and panels will be used to suggest a previous life, whether or not there is a body present at the time. These construction processes suggest the body “[leaving] irrevocable traces in the material after prolonged wear and tear” (Debo 9.) After all, “there is a melt-to-the-body exquisiteness to clothing worn and tattered just-so.” (Hodges 13.) This supports the idea of intersectional identity; that without the nuances of one’s individualised experience, one’s identity would be nothing but a title.
Conclusion
As I research these seemingly unrelated topics and systems—cultural multiplicity, queer theory, DIY practice, pop cultures archetypes, and secondhand clothing—I am shocked by how much these complex subjects truly intersect. My experience as a queer Filipino-New Zealander ground my research and has become an agent for revealing these connections. Identity, for me, is completely intertwined with dress. Whether its a conscious choice, our appearance plays a role in how we are able to navigate the environment in our everyday. Dress is an integral part of how one behaves in public/private because of the social connotations of individual garments and modes of dress.
My philosophy as a designer is rooted in my interest in the frameworks outlined in this research paper—cultural multiplicity, DIY practice, queer theory, pop culture archetypes, and secondhand clothing. Modes of DIY practice has been situated in my childhood, as it has for everyone. There is a hidden craftsmanship in our early years that is often dismissed as charming because it is merely of a child’s conception. The use of DIY practice, secondhand clothing and pop culture archetypes “[opened] up ‘possibilities for agentive creation of identity through the manipulation of appearance’” (Jones and Leshkowich 7 in Milgram 140.)
At a base level, my duty as a fashion designer is, simply, to constantly respond to the space around me, in whatever way I see fit. This continuous back-and-forth, action and reaction, between my identity and my environment creates a foundation for creation.
Overall, my interest is within dress-up. As people, we are able to embody a character whenever we choose. Although, dress-up becomes more serious as we mature; like how donning your father’s suit differs to wearing your own. As queer people, however, we have adopted playful dress-up as part of our culture—whether through club, drag, or kink.
As much as I would like to continue, I will leave with this quote from Nault on Queer DIY Production: “Our creative foremothers turned to DIY when capitalism simply would not do: when those in power would not deign to tell their degenerate” stories; when they understood that capitalism was detriment to queer bonds built not on money but on intimacy and outsiderness; and when they were told, “It’s impossible” and “You’ll never succeed.” Queer DIY has brought us our world” (Nault 81.)
Notes:
- All personal accounts are recalled from memory.
- All translations of Tagalog, one of the Philippines’ main languages, are translated from fluent speakers of the dialect or from memory.
Works Cited:
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