Maryam Khatoon Molkara (1950 - 2012) was a devout Muslim trans woman who survived purges of the Iranian Revolution and came out of them with an official religious decree in hand which recognizes the struggle of trans people and offers a blessing that they may pursue transition and life as their authentic selves—so long as they present themselves in a rather heteronormative, binary manner.

Early Life

Maryam Khatoon Molkara was born in Iran in 1950, on the edge of the Caspian Sea. As a child, she experienced some of the more frequently touted signs of fledgling dysphoria that we see in our community—playing with her mother’s clothes and make-up, small town love for the boy next door, a more natural ease around girls rather than the boys she was assigned as at birth. Late night prayer cycles when adolescence starts to set in, begging in quiet moments for one’s body to shift in the night into something which feels as if it fits comfortably within the invisible map drawn out by one’s soul.

In her late teens, early twenties, Molkara worked as a caretaker for an elderly woman in her neighborhood. After one occasion of taking her out to the local hospital, she was able to snag a part-time job there at the health center without telling her parents. She becomes acquainted with one of the doctors there, who turns out to be a post-operation trans man. When she confided in him that she felt like a woman and not like a gay man, he opened her eyes to the concept of transness as a viable option for her life. In this, he became the first outside reflection she received of her own experiences echoed back at her. It was an incredibly validating, enlightening turning point which changed the course of her life, giving her clarity and focus on what she could do to try and make a life for herself which felt genuine and true.

In 1970’s Iran, there was no real official policy on SRS (sexual reassignment surgery). There were levels of day to day transphobia typical to the time, but there were private doctors working in Iran which could freely perform SRS if they could afford the procedure.

Maryam Seeks Out A Religious Opinion and Begins Presenting as Female Full Time

Once she found out about hormone therapy and SRS as an option, Molkara worked up the courage to come out to her parents, but they did not take it well. Though she wanted so fiercely to surgically transition, she chose not to pursue SRS at that time in order to respect her mother’s wishes. The interaction caused her to second guess her path, and as a devout Muslim, she decided to get a second opinion on the issue from someone with a higher authority.

In the early 70’s, she reached out to one of the nation’s religious experts local to her area, the Ayatollah Behbehani. When they met, he performed an istikharah for guidance—allowing the Quran to fall open to a page with an air of divine directed chance and determining a reading based on that passage. The text fell open to the Quran’s verses about Jesus’ mother, The Virgin Maryam. Behbehani drew correlations between their stories and interpreted this to mean that her life will be a struggle for the belief of others, much like Maryam herself, and suggested that she write to the controversial Ayatollah Khomeini for further interpretation.

In the meantime, she lived in a poor district in Tehran with a platonic boyfriend. It was a hard life, but she revelled in the community she found around the cabarets—the kindred spirits thriving under the cover of night, seeking to be their authentic selves. She started taking estrogen while working at a nail salon in the city, and began to present as female more often than not. She found support from her coworkers and other members of the community as she grew out her hair and dressed in women’s clothes, living out her days and making plans to reach out to Khomeini—a mission which is interrupted when he becomes the spearhead of the Iranian Revolution.
 

Ayatollah Behbehani

Forced Back into the Closet

The Iranian Revolution breaks out in 1979.

During this time of a strict religious interpretation and burgeoning war with Iraq, a push towards fundamentalist morality created purges of ‘unsavory’ or ‘degenerate’ people—resulting in the deaths of mass numbers of homosexuals, prostitutes, addicts, and trans people in various iterations of presentation and transition. Molkara was beaten and imprisoned several times for wearing women’s clothes and was forced to take testosterone in attempts to “correct” the breasts which she had developed during her years of estrogen therapy. She is helped out of prison detainment only through her strong connections with the local religious community, with faith leaders advocating on the behalf of her character.

Her body was trapped in limbo. Binding her breasts while growing back into a beard, Molkara started working as a nurse on the front lines of Iran’s bloody war with Iraq in the early 1980. Several wounded soldiers became quietly infatuated with her and raised questions about her gender, citing the incredible tenderness of her touch and bedside manner.

Maryam and the Ayatollah

In 1983, she finally gets her meeting with the Ayatollah Khomeini.

She approached his compound with the Quran in her hands, shoes tied together by the laces and hanging around her neck - a gesture indicating a request for shelter. Upon her arrival, she is seized by his bodyguards and brutally beaten in the yard, all dust and dry grass and blood, coiling in to protect herself and telling them repeatedly, hysterical and hazy that she is a woman, she is a woman.

The vicious beating caused The Ayatollah’s son Ahmed to run out of the compound towards the commotion. When he came upon the scene he immediately called off the guards, chastising them for attacking a person who came seeking shelter. The guards pointed to the wrappings around her chest, suspecting that it could be a bomb strapped to her body, and she quickly tore them off, exposing her breasts.

S. Reza for The New York Times

The women at the compound rushed to cover her with a black chador, and Ahmed—moved instantly by her story—brought her into the house to meet his father. As they approached, she became overwhelmed and collapsed. When she came to, she finally received her audience with Khomeini.

With some of his most decorated doctors in attendance, the Ayatollah listened to her story. He considered the evidence of her life and the advice of the doctors, weighing it against the tenants of the Quran and the relative lack of direct instruction on how trans and intersex persons fit in to the gendered traditions of the faith.

At the end of his deliberations, the Ayatollah decreed a fatwa in favor of sex reassignment surgery for trans individuals, stating “In the name of the Almighty. God willing, sex reassignment if advised by a reliable doctor is permissible, I hope you are safe, and those who you have mentioned treat you well.”

This religious decree eased the warring waters of her soul, that conflict between what she wanted for herself and what she felt that she could do to have that life without breaking from her faith.

Later Activism and the Double Edged Sword of Clergical Acceptance of SRS

She gets approved by the government for SRS in 1986, but does not follow through until the late 1990s, after the reformists come to power in 1997. She opened a trans resource center in Tehran, and worked with Ali Razini—head of the Special Court of Clergy—and Zahra Shojai, Iran's vice president for women's affairs at the time, in order to secure more accessible health care and public education for trans people in Iran. She also helped found The Imam Khomeini Charity Foundation, which works as an auxiliary liaison with government-funded operations and secures $1,200 loans for persons seeking different stages of operation.

Today, there are several experienced doctors working in Tehran who have helped make the city of of the gender-reassignment capitals of the world—despite occasional death threats and attacks from citizens who do not agree with the clergy’s support of their patients and procedures.

While this clergical acceptance of gender reassignment and hormone therapy is great for binary trans people seeking transition, it does at the same time serve as a source of pain for other members of the queer community in the region. Homosexuality is still illegal in Iran, with punishments ranging from imprisonment, public beatings, and even death. This makes SRS an unwitting avenue of heteronormative, biological conversion therapy and forced sterilization, in which queer cisgender or non-binary Iranians are forced to go through gender reassignment as a way to ‘fix’ same-sex desires and avoid brutal prosecution.

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Mel Paisley is transmasculine author, illustrator, and general loudmouthed inkslinger based out of Savannah, GA. He writes a lot about pre-Stonewall herstory, schizophrenia, and being mixed and queer in the Deep South. (IG/Twitter: @melpaisleyart, melpaisleyart.com)

On Wednesday, Netflix released their revival of the groundbreaking 2003 reality series Queer Eye For The Straight Guy, and you really shouldn’t binge it. Sure, it’s very similar in premise; a ‘Fab Five’ group of queer men band together to help other, mostly straight, men change their lives for the better using their gay superpowers, but it’s been retooled for 2018. The revival drops the 2003’s original title ‘For The Straight Guy’ in favor of the cleaner and more all-encompassing Queer Eye, but more noticeably, the new gang moves from New York to the far-more-Red Atlanta, Georgia… you still shouldn’t binge it.

Instead, you should take in all eight episodes with the same meditative care the production had in making one of the most thoughtful reality shows I’ve seen in quite some time. The show is almost identical in the original’s hyper-reality TV tendencies, which were innovative then, but today is particularly Bravo-tacky, but the conversation is noticeably different. We’re different in 2018. Queer Eye knows that in America tensions are high, and no one is really up for another pointless conversation with straight conservatives.

But this isn’t Vice News Tonight. This isn’t a CNN Roundtable Discussion, or even a damn Facebook Thread. And instead of taking some sort of position of authority on social politics, Netflix’s Queer Eye stays in its glossy, reality TV lane. Though, it just so happens that its lane is a deeply Purple and human show that faces huge subjects like police brutality, religion, and even homophobic gay men with more grace and heart than more serious documentary shows.

Queer Eye sets out to makeover deeply straight lives though fashion, food, and grooming but inadvertently — or perhaps naturally — teaches the show’s ‘Fab Five’ some revealing truths about their own lives. With Jonathan Van Ness on Grooming, Antoni Porowski on food, Tan France on fashion, Karamo Brown on culture, and Bobby Berk on design, the team gleefully renovate several straight (and a few queer!) men. Every makeover, the boys end up learning something deeper about how they’ve struggled to resolve differences themselves.

I’m speaking, almost specifically about episode three of the show, where the gay, black culture-guru, Karamo, comes face-to-face with a red-hatted Trump Supporting Georgia Cop, and is inadvertently emotionally triggered by the show’s own production. With Karamo in the driver’s seat, they’re pulled over by a cop as a joke (who turns out to be a friend of the man they’re making over), and it ends up opening a much greater conversation about the levels of hurt felt by Karamo and the Black community at large. Spoilers, it ends softly and sweetly, like every episode, but that’s the point.

Through fluffy, nothing-but-happy-endings reality TV, Queer Eye may end up enlightening not just the straight people getting makeovers, but impacting the queer individuals watching who see some of the conversations that transpire over the season as an impossible, futile task. There’s nothing wrong with taking comfort in the hope that finding resolution with our disagreeing neighbors is possible in our own backyard.

The Atlanta, GA setting brings an extra layer of depth. Seeing the men travel to Little Five Points, Ponce City Market, and all the way out to Marietta Diner makes for a more intimate viewing experience, living in Atlanta. We’re surrounded by diversity at every corner, from Buckhead to College Park, and we’re living our true selves doing it.

Don’t binge all eight episodes of Queer Eye, because if you do, you’ll end up like me and be so emotionally exhausted from crying every. Single. Episode. There’s so much to unpack about this show, and I pray that it creates as lasting an impact as the original, because it’s so necessary right now. Like one of the show’s leads, Tan, said in the first episode, “The original show was about fighting for tolerance, and our fight is for acceptance.”

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Tyler Scruggs is a writer and musician living in Atlanta with his partner Mark. When he’s not churning out internet content, he’s paying too much for coffee and buying movie tickets week in advance. Feel free to validate him on Instagram (@Scruggernaut), Twitter (@TylerScruggs), or on Scruff (you'll know it when you see it).

WUSSY is accepting submissions from poets & writers who wish to read their work at "The Sex Issue" launch party in Asheville, NC at Firestorm Books & Coffee on Thursday March 29.

Submit your piece below! 

Details on "The Sex Issue"

WUSSY Magazine has released “The Queer Sex Issue”, a brand-new arts/literary zine featuring work from over 40 queer artists. Our seasonal, boutique print magazine is heavy on visuals, with the same biting and resonant WUSSY voice that you're used to.  

Join us on Thursday March 29 at Firestorm Books & Coffee at 6pm to pick up your copy of the issue as well as enjoy readings on the topic. 

WUSSY is an Atlanta-based publication that produces original content which encourages the discussion of life, politics, art, and expression from the perspective of the LGBTQIA+ community. In the works since 2012, WUSSY has garnered a dedicated following of readers who look to us for a curated, singular, queer-centric point-of-view.

Photo: Charles O'Rear

WUSSY is proud to present two poems by ATL queer, Maddie Fay. 
If you would like to send in a writing submission, please contact Nicholas Goodly. 
 

the moon is a lesbian,
which i know because she has
kissed every inch of my body
more often than any lover
i've ever known.

i have watched the way
she kisses the ocean
and guides her gently home,
have seen her face reflected with love
in the ever-changing sparkling surface of the sea,
and i don't know any other word
to describe a love like that.

the day we smoked a joint in the woods
and then walked eight miles in the rain
to gas station coffee,
we passed two other gas stations on the way,
but you were holding my hand and
i didn't want it to stop.
you said
"you're beautiful"
and i said
nothing
because you were the most remarkable
person i had ever seen,
leaned up against the hood of a stranger's car,
smoking a cigarette like a lesbian james dean.

you'd call yourself
"lesbian" sixteen times before breakfast
until it stopped sounding like venom
and started to sound like a prayer,
because how could i ever look at
love like this and feel anything
but holy?
my new church was the woods
by the river,
and i learned to worship
at the altar of your body.
you took me in your arms and you said,
"baby,
you're beautiful,"
and i told you i loved you
because beautiful had never
meant anything to me
except that i had something
people could take.
i heard "beautiful" from your lips and it sounded
like a blessing.

the moon is a lesbian because
she knows how to love without taking,
i have scarcely loved a man
who has learned how to love without taking,
that is not to say that no man
can love without taking,
but it is a skill that is learned
through a grief
that i have shared with every
lesbian i have ever met.

when you kissed me in the attic,
it was not the first time
i had been kissed,
but it was the first time that a touch
felt like a gift and not a punishment,
and it was the first time i understood
why people write love songs.
i wanted to write you a love song,
but after a lifetime afraid of my own voice,
all i could sing you were hymns.
not because i had made you an idol,
but because your hands on my body
made me feel clean for the first time.

the moon is a lesbian because
the night i stumbled out of
the apartment of the man
who only loved me when
he thought he could keep me,
blood on my lips and nowhere to go,
the moon kissed my fingertips
and she said,
"baby,
what took you so long?
welcome home."

The first time I loved a woman was cold river water and fireworks, all crackling chemicals and wild bones. It was an avalanche, precarious parts tumbling white powder thunder to lower ground where it could rest.

The first time I loved a woman who looked like me, the kind of woman you do not see in magazines, all tree trunk and earth except for the sharp parts, it was burning up the map I had drawn of my body and renaming every feature with a love I could not express in language. How could I hate my body for the space it occupied when you were there in front of me, so many inches and every one beautiful.

Lesbian is not a horror story. I have tasted my own blood, but my love is not a tragedy. The world is at turns fascinated and repulsed, angry and afraid, and living here does not always make sense. Loving you has always made sense. We are glorious revolution and quiet morning coffee with the sun streaming through the windows, and gay still means happy here. My story began all scars and bloody knuckles, but ours is holding hands and kisses on the tip of the nose and "lesbian" is always a blessing, like "freedom" and "home" and "I love you, I love you, I love you."

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Maddie Fay is a professional storyteller who has been writing poems, stories, and plays for as long as she can remember. She is also a designer and carpenter/electrician for theatre, and her work can be seen all around Atlanta. She'd like to thank her friends for everything and her dog, Myrtle, for always believing in her.

Still from but i'm a cheerleader

While speaking at Hollins University in October of 2017, lauded feminist and scholar bell hooks took a question about an issue much contested in feminism: the value of femininity. It was towards the end of a long and productive conversation about gender and racial justice. The question was a bit convoluted, and no doubt difficult to respond to in the minute or two she had left to speak; but still, the bareness of her response surprised me. She said, and I’m paraphrasing here, that she was not interested in femininity, and that, like toxic masculinity, it should be gotten rid of.

Listen, I’m not trying to take on bell hooks. The terse response she gave that night is likely unrepresentative of everything one of the greatest gender scholars in the world thinks and feels about femininity. But, as a queer woman who *is* femme and *loves* femmes, bell’s dismissal of femininity boiled in my head for days and days. I understood what she likely meant: femininity and womanhood, as constructed by patriarchy, is the subjugated underbelly of masculinity and manhood—the short straw in a shit dichotomy. Still, that’s not how I’ve constructed my femininity. My femininity is integral to my queerness and harmonious with my radical feminist politics. My femininity means leather, body hair, getting and giving what I want in bed, loving other femmes, and working for a sexual assault crisis hotline. In part, my femmeness has nothing to do with patriarchal ideas about womanhood; but, in other ways, I know that the femininity I’ve made for myself exists always in relation to patriarchal expectations. Thinking about the conflict between my queer femmeness and heteropatriarchal femininity invigorated me. I put on my best U-Haul Lesbian get-up and went to work unpacking the contradictions.

In the following months, I thought about my own femmeness and the femmeness of my lovers and friends. I attended a panel on queer femininity at a history conference and attempted to see the ways “femme” has been historically and culturally situated. I read what few writings I could find on femme queer identities (for queer femininity is horribly understudied) and interviewed several femme queer people from inside and outside of my own community. After plenty of daydreaming about fishnets and lipstick, I came to a pretty incomplete conclusion:

Heteropatriarchal femininity is more of a myth than a practice, but it’s a myth that we all contend with and work around when figuring what femininity means to us: as queers, as working class warriors, as people of color, as agents and as pawns in systems of power that are, at once, within us and outside of us. Ultimately, to be “femme” is to forge a self-made femininity that subverts the gender binary and heteropatriarchy by refusing to be defined in opposition to manhood and masculinity. In its autonomy, femmeness does not merely “queer” normative ideas about femininity—it confronts them and challenges them, necessitating a radical reimagining of gender and identity in the process.

The Autonomous Femme

To understand the complexities of queer femme identity, it’s necessary to understand the ways queer femme identity has been misunderstood—both inside and outside of the queer community. In one of the few anthologies dedicated to exploring queer femininity—Femme: Feminists, Lesbians, and Bad Girls—editors Laura Harris and Elizabeth Crocker describe “femme” as a marginalized gender category, maligned historically by lesbians, radical feminists, and society at large. Today, femmes still struggle to be seen as multifaceted, autonomous, and separate from masculinity and misogynistic stereotyping.

Even in queer relationships, femininity is often seen as needing a masculine counterpart. According to Harris and Crocker, queer femmes are most obviously defined “in relation to butch identity.” Without a butch, a femme woman’s queerness is often overlooked. Other queer women may fail to read her as sufficiently queer, and—even worse—straight men may think she’s interested in them. Thus, femmes may feel like they have to continually and aggressively assert their queerness to be acknowledged by other queer people or understood by straights.

Several femme women I interviewed described experiencing erasure first-hand. Hillary, a femme woman from New York, said “I get so exhausted by going to gay bars…and people asking or assuming I'm someone's straight best friend. It's pretty hard to meet people, too, without being overtly sexual or overtly ‘gay.’” Sarah, a femme woman from Maryland, spoke on being femme in straight spaces, where straight men often assume that she is heterosexual, and then, when they find out otherwise, fetishize her. “I’d like for straight men to stop thinking of us as pretty props for their fantasies,” she said.

bell hooks

The Radical Femme

In activist communities, femmes are sometimes written off as “good girls” (to quote Harris and Crocker) who are not subversive enough and not queer enough to be radical agents for change. This stereotype has much to do with the subjugating (and also invariably white, middle class, and heterosexual) kind of femininity patriarchy prescribes. In the late 20th century, radical feminist collectives rallied against patriarchal constructions of womanhood and, in doing so, some took a hard stance against femininity. Consequently, femme activists felt belittled and ignored, and femmephobic radical feminists were criticized for failing to take into account the experiences of brown and black femmes, poor femmes, and queer femmes whose femininities were always already in conflict with patriarchal standards. Femmephobia still persists in certain feminist communities, but that hasn’t stopped radical femmes from mobilizing and kicking ass. After all, if Sylvia Rivera and Marsha P. Johnson could stand up to homophobic cops in heels and lipstick, femmes everywhere can use their painted fingernails to stir the patriarchal pot.

The femmes I interviewed generally agreed that their femininities—however they enact them—are constructed in opposition to patriarchal standards of womanhood. Even femmes who enjoy stereotypically “feminine” clothing and makeup (and not all femmes do) still see their holistic femininities as being complex and critical, tough and tender, powerful and sympathetic. In one interview, Lin, a queer woman from the PNW, described being raised to believe that femininity meant unwavering obedience to men. Now, as an adult, she expresses a different kind of femininity by wearing high-femme fashions that most men find over-the-top and alienating—not that she cares. In her view, she reclaims feminine fashions by wearing them for herself and disassociating them with patriarchal expectations and men’s desires. “You don’t have to act like a housewife to dress like one” she said.

The Bisexual Femme

Femmeness, though historically conceptualized as a gender category within lesbian communities (the femme/butch dynamic), has since been broadened to include bisexual, pansexual, and queer femmes. Not everyone agrees with “queering” the term, but, in my view, applying “femme” to a variety of non-heterosexual sexualities and non-cisgender identities further challenges heteropatriarchal, binary understandings of gender and sexuality—and that’s a good thing. On that theme, in this section I’m using “bisexual” to mean attracted to multiple genders—not just men and women.

Femme bisexuality is not new. Femme: Feminists, Lesbians, and Bad Girls, published in 1997, includes an essay on bisexual femmeness by Leah Lilith Albrecht-Samarasinha, a biracial woman who calls herself queer and has lovers of varying genders and sexualities. As a bisexual femme, she is critical of the way butch/femme lesbian relationships sometimes mirror patriarchal ideas about masculinity and femininity: femmes are expected to “stand by their butch,” and butches, in turn, are supposed to protect their femmes. Her ideas about gender are inspired more by trans feminisms, which understand butchness and femmeness as “two kinds of gender practices that are oppositional to colonialist patriarchy.” She also emphasizes how identity and marginalization are multifaceted. As a working-class queer woman of color, she finds easier allyship with the working class “butch fags, FTM queens, and Nancy boys in [her] community” than middle-class, soft butch white women (the default “gay woman” stereotype). From her perspective, femme cannot be essentialized as belonging to a single sexuality/race/gender category. It must be considered in relation to other layers of identity.

I interviewed a couple of femmes who identify as bisexual, and they spoke to how their bisexuality affects their femmeness. Sarah, who’s interested in dating other femmes, said she has experienced biphobia from femme lesbians: “lesbian women tend to avoid getting romantically involved with pan or bi women because apparently we're ‘faking it,’” she said. Johana, who also identifies as bisexual, expressed a preference for romantic relationships in which gender roles are fluid and self-determined, rather than oppositional: “We can both wear dresses or we can both wear pants and have long hair and wear makeup and be the little spoon or the big spoon. Sometimes there's a binary but it's all whenever we want.” In both Johana and Sarah’s experiences, being bisexual influences what it means to be femme, whether that amounts to encountering biphobia in queer spaces or seeing gender and sexuality from a fluid POV.

Femme Beyond the Binary

Through talking to femme women and researching queer femininity, I saw some of the many ways femmes challenge binary conceptions of gender and sexuality in their lives and in the way they make and remake their identities, and I celebrate that. However, being femme beyond the gender binary can have serious consequences—particularly for femmes who are not cisgender women. As of late, a number of articles have been written about femmephobia on gay dating sites like Grindr, and femme gay men are more likely than masculine gay men to be targets of homophobic violence. Further, trans women and trans feminine people—and especially trans femmes of color and femmes who don’t “pass” as cisgender women—are even more likely than femme gay men to experience gender-based violence. The Advocate reported that 2017 was the deadliest year on record for trans women. Obviously, misogyny doesn’t just affect cisgender women, and it isn’t just perpetrated by cisgender men. Femme may be fierce, radical, and a force to be reckoned with, but heteropatriarchal society, the state, and even some collectives within the LGBTQ community are enacting daily, deadly violence against femmes who are not white, not affluent, not cisgender, and not in-line with a bullshit gender dichotomy.

This is where bell hooks comes in again. During her talk, she posited femininity as being similar to toxic masculinity, and in doing so made clear that femininity can do harm and perpetuate violence. For queer femmes who have made a femininity for themselves that is subversive, inclusive, complex, and affirming, this claim might fall flat. But, beyond what femininity means to us, a larger, violent system of exclusion and dominance exists—and the gender dichotomy is part and parcel to that system. “Toxic” femininity, like toxic masculinity, gives women conditional power in exchange for their subservience; it requires them to limit themselves and diminish others in the name of power and control. It goes hand in hand with misogyny, white supremacy, state violence, transphobia, homophobia, and myriad other forms of baseless enmity. Queer femmes have done the brave work of creating femininities that confront, challenge, and stand in opposition to patriarchy, thus mapping a path towards more liberating conceptions of gender. But, we must remember, until all femmes can live without threat of violence, none of us are free.

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RM Barton is a writer and activist living in Roanoke, Virginia. Originally from Maryland, she moved to Southwest Virginia for school some five years ago, and has since become invested in queering southern space. She is the co-lead of The Southwest Virginia LGBTQ History Project and the publisher of The Southwest Virginia LGBTQ History Project Zine, which aims to illuminate queer history through queer art and storytelling. She blogs at rmbartonblog.wordpress.com

PHOTO: Tamotsu Yato

WUSSY is proud to present a poem by ATL artist, Esteban Mendez. 
If you would like to send in a writing submission, please contact Nicholas Goodly. 
 

I can be the boss Daddy

I can be the boss Daddy
Your Lolita gullying that tonsil cigar

Fondle me Daddy ever so, climax me fierce faunlet
I’ll smother you like you wanted it, don’t cry

You like your nymphets insane Daddy
Pisces my jailbait fishnets, stab me with your spear

Suppository that loose Daddy, you got me palming it
shotgun the X, flaming vitamins match my singed hole

My, my, Daddy have we been everywhere? My mascara
hasn't been waterproof for ages; let me dabble on some before

we rehearse this Daddy, tip tap tatter tongue tripping times three, got me dot it?
These legs ain't just slinging up gold tiddles you know

cough me out like smoke, but you'll remember the darkness

----
Esteban Mendez is a gay poet who recently moved to Atlanta to get his shit together after failed attempts in Florida. He is currently succeeding and has a few more poems in the work that are brewing. 

It's no secret that WUSSY loves a good campy queer flick.

Next up in our Wussy Wednesday @ Plaza Theatre series, we've got SPICE WORLD on March 14th.  The 8pm screening sold out in a matter of days, so we have added a 10pm screening for the rest of you! Hurry y'all, cause tickets are already halfway sold out for that one as well. Click here to purchase.

#SAYYOULLBETHERE

And help us choose the next film by selecting your favorite from the options below!

Art By Trevor Wayne

On Thursday March 8, actor, model, and Instagram cutie Trevor Wayne will be bringing his own gay twist on pop culture imagery to Dad's Garage Theatre.  This Palm Springs-based artist has appeared on TV favorites like MADtv and ER and posed for celluloid legends like Greg Gorman and Clive Barker.   

Wayne will be on hand Thursday selling original pieces, while a team of Dad's Garage improvisers do scenes based off of the artwork. It should be a great night full of comedy, pop art, and unbridled thirst.

We spoke to Wayne about his artistic inspirations, favorite memes, and finding success as a queer artist.
 

You’ve worked with a lot of famous faces - from Cliver Barker to Mario Testino. How did you get your start in modeling?

I started modeling when I needed headshots for acting, and the photographer wanted to take nude pics. I said sure why not.. though I have many insecurities about my body. I figured who cares? This is me so? I found the vulnerability in it a little addictive. I just kept doing it, through the good responses and the bad. Everyone is a judge when you post nudes of yourself on the internet. I just always kept in mind that its a product and not who I truly am. My ego never became affected by it, and my sense of self esteem does not come from my looks. I think nude and erotic modeling actually taught me that. Because I really liked it and didn't have expectations of an outcome, I think it drew more photographers to me. I was definitely lucky to have been photographed by some incredible people, and it started a friendship with Clive Barker, whom I find really inspirational.
 

Your work is a fun mix of styles and pop art influences. Who or what would you say is your biggest inspiration?

As a kid- before internet- I didn't learn much about art in my home town in Indiana. I was inspired by cartoons and comic books.. not knowing what "Pop Art" even was. I just liked to draw the cartoons I admired. Also at that time my first experience of mass marketed art was Lisa Frank. She had bright images of palm trees, sunglasses, and flamingos just floating around on these solid blue backgrounds... and I really loved it! I wanted to have my art on every Trapper Keeper in America!
 

Have you ever ghosted on a date?

Before or after? Definitely after!! Haha!

What can we expect from your show at Dad’s Garage?

Well, I'll be there with a pop up shop with my art prints, mugs, and lapel pins of my art.. the improv troop is going to act out little scenes based on each piece of my art and how they interpret it. So I have no idea what will happen! I'm really excited to see this show. Having an improv troop act out my art is not something I ever thought Id see! Im very honored to have this happen. I think it will be a very fun night with fun people. I really can't wait to meet everyone who comes!
 

Favorite TV shows to binge?

LOST! Golden Girls! Currently really into Crazy Ex Girlfriend and Schitts Creek- and of course Archer!!!
 

Do you eat gluten?

I EXCLUSIVELY eat gluten. So delish!
 

What advice would you give to young queers trying to break into the art and/or modeling world?

As an artist my only advice is to always remember you are making your art for you. Don't compare yourself to others and don't try to "out do" anyone. Do it because its what you want hanging on your own wall. Your voice in your art is important. However that doesn't mean it will sell instantly or make you rich. Like almost any career it takes at least a decade to break through. You really have to do it because you love it- even if you have to have side jobs to support it thats ok! I would always be doing art no matter what. Even if I never become some art legend. Its about living my best, honest life while Im alive, and making the connections with the people around me that my own personal style of art brings into my life.

As a model I have no advice. I think "model" is the wrong word for me. "Subject" maybe. Its a fun creative outlet but certainly not the career for me.

Current favorite meme? 

It always changes.. but the last one I really laughed at was a picture of a little girl holding bread and a goat. It looks like her and the goat are laughing and the type says "When you and your goat find bread fucken hilarious". It stuck with me. On some deep level we have all been there, right?
 

What music are you listening to? 

When working on art I usually listen to podcasts.. usually something about living your best life or business related. But if I listen to actual music its usually Talking Heads.
 

Who should we be following on Instagram?

Not really sure who I think anyone SHOULD follow.. but if you want to follow me I have two accounts.

The @mr.trevorwayne account is more about personal posts, art, and shameless nude selfies, and my @TrevorWayne.Art account is all my artwork and art related posts. Its much more safe for work.

Join Trevor Wayne and the Atlanta improvisers on Thursday, March 8 from 7-10pm at Dad's Garage Theatre. Presale tickets are available at the Dad's Garage website for only $5.

PHOTO: Flip Schulke

WUSSY is proud to present "Circle" by ATL writer, Benjamin Carr. 
If you would like to send in a writing submission, please contact Nicholas Goodly. 
 

Circle

There is a circle made from different-colored bricks at the center of my hometown. It connects two monuments in the middle of the town square. And, once I got my drivers' license, it became my usual destination if things in my life or at my house were turning sour.

Two sidewalks running in opposite directions to the ends of the town square cut the circle in half. Where the sidewalks meet, the bricks form a small square at the circle's very center, big enough for you to fit both of your feet in. It's where you start the walk, always, and where you end it.

When I was a teenager, the circle stood at the exact center of everything that was wrong or confusing about my life. In front of me was the Baptist Church. To my left was my first newspaper office, representing what I wanted to be. Behind me was the way home. To my right, I guess, was the rest of the world that I was afraid to face, road after road leading out of Buford to the Interstate, to Atlanta, to all the other places where I was afraid to drive.

If something's wrong, you go to the circle and walk it. You stand at the center, seeing all the directions you could be pulled to compelling you, and look to the lines to guide you, going back to the left toward the newspaper, away from the church. When you've reached the circle's dark gray edge, you change direction, walking along its circumference.

In the middle of the night, when it's just you inside the circle and the only light available is coming from different spots in town, you can shout anything you want. The town pays no attention. Most of the sound is drowned out by crickets, anyway. The circle is your stage, your friend, your place of peace. The walk is your ceremony and meditation. Your shouts and frustrations are for you to hear, and they're aimed at the sky.

The circle is not a happy place for me because of what it represents of my past. If I fail in something big or small, or if I have some sexual encounter that I know in my heart I shouldn't have done or didn't want to do, the feelings of childhood flood back, so I go back to the circle, finish the pattern.

There are more definite answers in math and science than there are in literature and history. Pattern, repetition, time, measurement. The circle is something complete, finite, in the middle of infinite possibilities for good and bad all around me.

Inside it, chaos in thought or in life comes into better focus, and problems become malleable, solvable. Try walking the edge and not losing your footing. Stay in line. You're at the center. The end is the beginning. The tasks are clear. The walk is outlined for you, and you know when you're here what you need to do.

The circle helps make sense of things. When lost in aimless madness or disappointment, it gives you workable goals, a place to align yourself and your thoughts.

The last time "it" happened when I was a kid, just as quickly as I could get my clothes back on, I jumped in my car. He ran after me, telling me that we never had to do "that" again. I told him something incomprehensible. I think I just told him that I had to go. I ended up at the circle, screaming and walking.

You see, I'd started talking with my school counselor about "it" happening, about how I liked it as "it" was going on but didn't want to want "it." I didn't understand how, if I understood intellectually that what I was doing and who I was doing it with was wrong, I couldn't stop myself from doing it. It's not about being gay. It's the gray area I have to go to when I tell people I was "molested." So to speak.

It's about it being my choice or something that was done to me. I made choices in the situation, and they weren't always ones where I was saying no. I kept control of certain aspects of the "abuse." I suppose we can, but you can't do that action to me. I suppose we can, but I'd rather you not do that. I don't want to do that. This feels nice. No, it isn't. I can stop myself. No, I can't. This wasn't my fault. But I sometimes chose for it to happen and liked it. And I can't tell if I was the victim of this or if I was someone inflicting an equal amount of hurt and confusion upon someone else.

Four years, it had gone on. Four years, I hadn't talked about it with anyone. Then the stupid situation with that cute boy from down the street, the one who kept coming to visit my family, the one who looked like Christian Slater. I was jealous that the boy down the street liked my "abuser" better than he liked me. That he didn't know what kind of person my stepbrother was. That something might happen to the boy down the street. That "Why doesn't that boy like me?" feeling.

So I went to my counselor and I told her that I was upset with my stepbrother. I told her that I liked this boy down the street and couldn't figure out why I was jealous that he liked my stepbrother better than me. She asked me if I loved the boy down the street, and I said, "No ... I guess ... Yes ... But not like that." Only it was like that, but I didn't really see it.

When I told her I was worried that my stepbrother might do something to the boy, that's when the story of my own abuse started to come out. I was a senior in high school. I don't really remember how old I was when it started. Whether it was four years or five. When days bleed together, you can't tell when anything starts.

I don't know if I was really trying to protect that boy down the street, even though I told the counselor I was worried about him. That boy down the street was stronger than me, so nothing bad would happen to him. He wasn't confused like I was. I was easily manipulated, I thought, and other people wouldn't be hurt by my stepbrother. He wouldn't be able to get to them. Besides, he wasn't an aggressor or evil or anything. It was something that I could do for him, while it was at the same time something that I hated myself for doing.

I told her that I wasn't going to do it. I told her that I wanted to stop. But I'd done it anyway. The motions started, and I just went along with it because someone else wanted it and I'm easily swayed. It was in the living room. My parents were out. It was just he and I.

I'd failed myself. I'd failed my goal. And I ended up at the circle. And I walked around it again and again and again, talking to myself, thinking over what I'd done. I'd said I would stop it, and I hadn't. You can't face the church in front of you, God's nowhere to be found. The newspaper is closed. There's no escape. You can barely drive. You can barely move. You walk, and you yell. And this is what the circle means to me. This is what the circle is. This is where I go when I can't go home and there's nowhere to go. And I need comfort.

I was there recently and walked it again.

I was thinking about love. How I can't seem to find it. How I can't seem to relax into it. How I seem to need it to an unhealthy degree, how I need a lover to help me move beyond my past and give me sexual experiences and memories that don't upset me.

There is no moving forward, breaking out and moving on at that time of night. Any possibility is gone for the day. Feeling good is something that only a night's sleep and a fresh morning can bring you.

It's late. You're alone. You can't or won't go anywhere. There is only the circle.

While there, everything is tied. Everything ends where it begins. And, in the circle, there is comfort and sense - if only within the lines.

---
Benjamin Carr, a writer and storyteller originally from Buford, Ga., has previously been published in The Guardian, Pembroke Magazine and other publications. He is one of the founders of gutwrench, an online literary journal.

We've all been there—it's been a long day, you're feeling yourself, and you want someone else to feel you too. So you open Grindr—stop denying it, queen—and start scanning through an array of faces, torsos and blank profiles.

Finally, you find a profile that peaks your interests and after a tasteful exchange of nudes and a colorful discussion about watersports, you know he's the one. You invite him over and he responds saying that he doesn't have a ride, in turn inviting you to his place.

You pause for a moment, questioning if this encounter is safe, briefly remembering all the horror stories of online creepers. You shake off the anxieties and tell yourself that you're just being too paranoid.

You proceed to go to his house.

What happens next is entirely left up to fate, and should you decide to take that chance—you should be prepared for the worst.

On February 26, the Netherland Times reported that the body of 17 year old Orlando Boldewijn was found in a lake after he was reported missing. He went missing after a date arranged on Grindr.  

On February 4, a Massachusetts teenager arranged to meet with two men at a local reservoir to smoke. He had met them on Grindr. The Daily Mail reports that the unnamed victim was attacked and beaten by four teens who stole his Nike Air Jordan sneakers, $140 in cash, and his cell phone.

On February 3, ABC7Chicago reported that the victim was robbed with a knife and had his finger cut off after meeting the suspect on Grindr and giving his address.

Perhaps the worst Grindr encounters occurred in London in late January 2018, when a 32-year-old martial arts teacher was arrested for planning to give crystal meth to and have sex with a child, according to Metro UK. I've omitted the more gut-wrenching details, and thankfully no child was actually harmed in this case.

It's not an easy conversation to have when talking about the dark realities and intentions of some internet users. Apps like Grindr, which are mainly driven out of sexual desire, create a space which is not inherently problematic, but one that is very easy to make so. I have found myself in conversations on Grindr that haunt me to this day, and I've even validated and fetishized extreme violence, something I wish I could take back.

Other times I have been catfished and misled about people's intentions. I have been approached by multiple users offering me meth and quick cash scams. Beyond this, I have been verbally attacked and have been in the company of very unsavory characters.

When trying to check for the validity of an online user, asking for a few pictures is not enough. If the user does not have social media or is unwilling to share it with you, or if the accounts they share lack personal information, verifiable friends and family, and an in-depth history of past posting, exercise caution.

When meeting someone new it is always a good idea to arrange to meet in a public place, and also to insist on facetiming before arrangements to meet in person are even made. It is also important to be sober the first time you meet someone.

When meeting someone in person, especially if going to a private residence, it is imperative to let close friends and family know where you are going. This can be as simple as sending them a text with the address or sharing your location services with them and letting them know to expect a text from you saying that you are safe when you get there.

It is always important to know and openly communicate your sexual health status when meeting people, and especially beneficial to know self defense.

The Internet, and especially social apps like Grindr, are exactly what users make of it. Grindr can be used to improve your social life and sex life, but it can also improve your chances of being a target for violence.

That is not to say that we should avoid using dating, sex or social media apps or that using them is wrong, but rather to say that we must be extremely cautious and never assume the intentions of strangers.

Please be safe and remember to have fun!
 

We've got your chance to see Todrick Hall!

The fabulously talented Youtube star and RuPaul's Drag Race judge will be presenting his show TODRICK HALL AMERICAN on May 6, 2018 at the Fox Theatre. 

Enter your email address below for the chance to win:

WUSSY is proud to present a poem by ATL queer, Judas. 
If you would like to send in a writing submission, please contact Nicholas Goodly. 

“Faggot Out of Carolina”
 

What hope is there for the small town queer?

Backwoods and backwards
Carolina born, yet to be bred
My developing soul could not yet
Be at peace with the tug-of-war within me.

Which was home - Southern or Queer?
Because surely it could not be both.

Who would tell a boy with a drawl thick as
Paper mill smoke that it’s okay to like Hunter instead of Hannah?
Who would tell him that not everything
The preacher said on Sunday morning

Was meant to be taken literally?
Who would tell him that it’s okay to cry sometimes?

Y’see I was Southern and Queer
Like
Ole and Wudder.

Southern like
Tea brewed with a pound of sugar
And biscuits made from scratch.

Southern like
“Bless your heart” was understood to be an insult
And barbecue was understood to be a noun --
A vinegar soaked noun, no mustard needed.

But I was also Queer.

Queer like

Afternoons spent skinny dipping with the
Boys up the road
And nights spent camping naked in their
Backyards.


Queer like
Sneakin’ away bits of your mother’s
Eyeshadow palette
While pretending a girl on the cheerleading squad
Had your heart.

Queer like
Eternally single 40 year old men
Committing themselves to celibacy
And 50 year old women sharing homes
Because they were just that good of “friends.”

Queer like
The closet.

Y’see
When I grew up,
Queer wasn’t power.
It was the kid “smeared” on the playground at recess.
Gay meant stupid.
And faggots were destined to burn in hell like
The bundle of sticks they were.

Sex ed
Took place in the silence of Bible classrooms,
The foottaps of truck stops along I-95
And repeated glances on the trails of Jordan Lake.

My small town wasn’t prepared to raise
Someone like me.
There was no box for me to check even if I wanted to.

Not seeing Queer Love
Meant I had to figure it out for myself
And unfortunately first loves aren’t always the best.

My first facade of a heart made whole
Warped it when he said

I wasn’t worthy of the words I speak.



They held too much meaning
For someone who was barely held together -
Bursting at my self-sewn seams.

So  I stuffed that inside me.

Bulked up around it.

Sewed my seams even tighter.

So no one could ever say my words belied the truth.
That lofty ideas were out of reach for me.
That there were two too many syllables for a
Faggot out of Carolina.

But still with every word I speak,
I hold back three more.
Fearing what the inside looks like.
That you too will find my words too near a mask for your liking.

My throat, my mouth, my teeth, my gums,
My lips
Are all covered in chewed letters,
Emulsified thoughts and
Swallowed syllables

So, sometimes they spit out like bullets, and
Sometimes people get caught in the crossfire, and
Sometimes they ricochet back into me

Sinking deeper into my body, and
Sometimes I just stay quiet.

And in my quiet, I realize
I wasted my youth
Scouring the cosmos for a God
That would not answer,
So eventually I stopped asking.

Asking why I was so very small and the
Stars I danced beneath so very far away.



With my question left unanswered,
I turned my focus to society’s familiars:
-- The sex workers,
The ephemeral lovers,
The midnight answers,
The street waifs --
All those that society forgets until

Their most dire urgings.

I found sparks of what I once called God
In my chosen family
And in brief, fleeting moments,
I began to find it in myself.

At that point, my question changed from
“Why were we so very small?”
To
“How could we grow to be ever expanding
Like the cosmos that bore us?”

And in dancing our bodies electric
Under the fluorescent neon skies,
I found my answer.

It took me driving deep into the woods
Of Tennesse to finally learn how
To appreciate all of me.
To make something new out of that Old Time Religion.
To find home in both Southern and Queer.

Y’see
I’m Southern and Queer
Like houses packed full of half-naked bodies
Cuddled on couches
Clothes strewn about and
Casserole dishes nearly licked clean.

Southern and Queer
Like a transman growing root vegetables
And milking cows with a bit of
Honeysuckle hangin’ out his mouth.



Southern and Queer
Like former rave scene queens
Growing old together in the open fields of
Stokes County with their 7 rescues
Smoking equal parts tobacco and marijuana

Southern and Queer
Like the pastor’s daughter
Sipping kava and listening to nu-folk
In her girlfriend’s bed.

Southern and Queer
Like drinking half and half tea at
R. Thomas Grill
Turning pain to art
Just to return to my lover’s outstretched arms.

So to that boy with a drawl thick as
Paper mill smoke hiding his heart from everyone,
Yourself included -
You’re gonna pull through.

Believe me when I say
We can look back now
Our soul better for the wear
And say without a doubt
“There is hope for the small town queer.”

---
Judas is a professional muse, amateur word-worker, and casual kink connoisseur - born in North Carolina, bred in Atlanta, based in the freedom of a fagabond's wanderlust.

People who live with mental illness often have fraught relationships with love. Throughout the course of our lives, many of us do not receive adequate support from family, partners, and our communities. Our perceived nonconformity can leave us ostracized or abandoned. As a result, we often struggle to trust ourselves and other people, convinced that we are unreliable narrators—too “crazy” to be loveable, valuable, and worthy. Our mental illnesses can also make us inordinately vulnerable to abuse and violence, both systemically and personally. Laced with so much hardship and rejection, loving while mentally ill can seem daunting—unachievable, even.

Queer people, too, often have fraught relationships with love. Many of us experience similar rejection or alienation from our families, partners, and communities. Taught from birth to idealize heteropatriarchal myths about family and romance, we struggle to forge an affirming space for our identities and desires in a society that marks them as deviant and shameful. We internalize the morality codes that are weaponized against us, and then struggle to unlearn their influence. Here in the rural south, we often undergo this process in isolation—caught in conservative strongholds, vulnerable to homophobic violence and other overlapping systems of oppression like racism, poverty, and incarceration. Trauma can instigate or exacerbate mental illness, and so it’s not surprising that the LGBTQ community experiences alarmingly high levels of depression, anxiety, and PTSD. For queer people who are also mentally ill (and there are millions of us) loving ourselves and others can be a lifelong challenge, and one that requires a reimagining of what love and romantic fulfillment can mean. I am currently enmeshed within that process which is, for me, a continuous unraveling. What follows is some of what I’ve learned.

After graduating from college, I committed myself to unpacking the emotional baggage that I had long buried behind my school work. I started to “come out,” talking more concretely about my romantic and sexual desires—especially those that I had repressed or refused to acknowledge. I also “came out” in other ways: writing publically about being a sexual assault survivor, discussing my struggles with anorexia and debilitating anxiety, and mapping out my fractured relationship with home. It was not a graceful liberation. Every time I spoke or wrote, I doubted the ways I was identifying myself. I was suspicious of my ability to make sound, honest judgments about who I was. This bled into my personal relationships—I wondered if my community thought I was an imposter. Was I? I had spent much of my adolescence in talk therapy, in school counseling sessions, and in doctor’s offices listening to other people, people who wanted to help, talk about how my perception was fundamentally flawed. Now, I felt like I couldn’t give myself the authority to change, to wander, to become.

After several breakdowns and countless sleepless nights, my determination to do good work won out over my fear, as it sometimes does. I bunkered down and continued to ask myself what I wanted, and how I could let myself have it. In love, that meant rethinking my expectations. Throughout my life, I had been taught to believe in monogamy, in marriage, in finding a soulmate and building a lifelong partnership anchored by a shared commitment to not sleep with other people. But, as time went on and I saw myself more clearly and independently, I lost my faith. I was deeply in love, and wanted to stay that way, but I also wanted a future with more fluidity, more experimentation, more freedom, and more productive honesty about my desires and the desires of my partners.

This was not a graceful liberation either. Much of the literature I’ve read about polyamory and ethical nonmonogamy has emphasized the potential that open relationships have to bring about newfound passion, clarity, empathy, and communicative healing. Some feminist and queer theory I’ve read posits monogamy as inherently heterosexist and patriarchal, propagated more to uphold the nuclear family and normative gender roles than to give people what they want in sex and love. I don’t disagree with these points in general. But, unlearning something that, to me, was ubiquitous and naturalized is fucking rough—especially when mental illness and trauma are thrown into the mix. Growing up, my biggest fear was losing control. Thus, even the specious stability of a monogamous relationship could feel comforting and, worse, necessary. I didn’t want to feel “in competition” with anyone else because I saw love as a finite resource, and often doubted my partners’ sincerity and commitment. I told myself I wasn’t worthy of other people’s attention and support, and, most insidiously, failed to recognize that I was enough on my own. Deluded about my self-evident value, it was easy to turn to habits and ways of being that promised structure, even if that structure was ultimately hollow. I’m now actively working to unpack and address these anxieties, but loving my partners and their partners openly and honestly will be a continuous struggle—not unlike the struggles of the last ten years. But, this time, I am convinced that the struggle is taking me somewhere—somewhere better.

When I first started speaking my truth about love, identity, and desire, I felt like I had to get it exactly right. I wondered: if I struggle, or fail, or became illegible, will I still be believed and respected? But I was always critiquing myself from the perspectives of other people; often, people who were absent from my life: past boyfriends, therapists, middle school bullies, friends I only ever saw on Facebook. Now, when I look inward, I see something different: someone who is bravely, if imperfectly, making a commitment to understand herself and heal. Truthfully, I have not yet learned how to love while mentally ill and queer. But I am learning, and I am giving myself permission to fuck up, to stumble, to make a mess. Getting to that space of leniency and forgiveness has taken a lifetime of thankless, invisible work. All of us fighting similar battles know how it feels to have our labors overlooked. But we deserve, at least, to feel proud of ourselves. We have survived, and that makes us miraculous.

----
 

RM Barton is a writer and activist living in Roanoke, Virginia. Originally from Maryland, she moved to Southwest Virginia for school some five years ago, and has since become invested in queering southern space. She is the co-lead of The Southwest Virginia LGBTQ History Project and the publisher of The Southwest Virginia LGBTQ History Project Zine, which aims to illuminate queer history through queer art and storytelling. She blogs at rmbartonblog.wordpress.com

Like many other misfits, I have struggled endlessly to find my tribe. I was one of the only fresh-out-of-the-closet gays in high school, surrounded by a sea of Southern Belles and born again hipsters. Well into college, I found platonic love with mostly straight identified individuals. After moving to Atlanta in 2012, the flood gates opened and unleashed a sea of drag queens, radical faeries, queer activists, dreamers and lovers. Within all this newfound faggotry, I quickly realized that claiming queer was more complicated than coming out as gay.

It irks me to say it, but we’ve all noticed the culture shift and trending hashtags.
Queerness is quickly becoming part of the mainstream conversation.

Multimedia conglomerate, Condé Nast, recently launched their own online queer publication called “them”. The new Roseanne reboot is reported to feature network TV’s first nonbinary character. We are being marketed to on runways, on TVs, and in our clothing stores. According to a study done last year by the J. Walter Thompson Innovation Group, millenials are queer as fuck when compared to previous generations. As the word “queer” becomes more frequently used, commodified, and stripped of meaning, many people have become understandably protective of this identity. For an identity that is so much about living on the margins, how is it suddenly that being queer feels so damn trendy?

With any sort of niche community, there are always gatekeepers—those individuals who feel they speak for all members of said community. Gatekeepers stifle creativity. They create barriers, discourage questions, all while amassing a loyal group of zealots. They are also usually the loudest ones in the room (or chatroom).

Growing up in a Southern Baptist church, I am hyper aware of this behavior. Within my small church community, I often felt ostracized by asking simple questions. If I didn’t exhibit Stepford Wives/shiny-happy-people level exuberance, I was clearly under the influence of something evil and ungodly. I felt like I was constantly under the microscope.

As a modern queer, you are expected to follow a certain set of prescribed rules and expectations. If you step out of line, you are immediately “canceled” or crucified by your online or real-life companions. Healthy discourse is quickly shut down.

I didn’t leave one cult for another.

I do believe discourse is healthy and important. Some call outs are necessary. What I’m talking about is a particularly insidious tendency to shut people down who have differing opinions. Questioning the queerness of others based on physical appearance or simple disagreements.

No one should feel ostracized by a community that is claiming to be radical. Many of us feel not queer enough for the radical or militant queers in our midst. Even if we agree with many of their radical stances but not always their approaches, we’re still not good enough. The radical approach demands 100% purity and lashes out at those who don’t fall in line.

We are all casualties of this trendy mainstreaming of queer identity while simultaneously being roasted on the alter of conservative political leverage. Our identities are constantly being commodified and weaponized, but why are we turning those weapons on each other?

My queerness is not contingent on the clothes that I’m wearing, the style of my hair, the music I listen to, or the bars that I frequent. We ask outsiders not to make assumptions about our gender and sexuality, so why don’t we extend the same courtesy to the people in our own communities? Can we break the cycle of the oppressed becoming the oppressor or are we just like everybody else?

Being comfortable in your own identity is radical. Giving others space to grow and be themselves is radical. Empathy and patience are radical.

People talk about the queer community like it is a tangible object or entity or group of people. The spirit of the queer community itself cannot be defined, owned, or commodified, and the Atlanta queer community proves that. We aren’t one queer community; we are multiple queer communities. We shift, we grow, we make mistakes and argue, but we don’t all prescribe to one definition of what queer can be.

And that’s kind of beautiful, right?

Stay tuned for my next piece: “How Str8 Thou Art”

Photo: Johnnie Ray Kornegay III 

WUSSY is excited to announce the call for entries for our next quarterly arts issue.

Unlike past volumes, we will be selecting only FIVE visual artists and FIVE written submissions. We want to give your work a chance to truly shine! In addition to your submissions, we've got loads of great interviews, queer icons, photo stories, and more lined up.

We are working hard to make sure this is the best issue yet!
In case you missed The Sex Issue, check it out here.

Are you a queer-identified individual?
Showcase your work with us!

 

Theme

There is no theme! All bets are off.

 

What Are We Looking For?

Opinion pieces, personal essays, works of non-fiction, short fiction, break-up stories, photo essays, illustrations, nudies, comics, interviews, original and thoughtful pieces.

All work must NOT have been published anywhere else online or in print.

 

Submission Guidelines

All written submissions should be submitted as a Word Doc or PDF. Preferred word counts range from 500-2,500 words depending on the piece. Please label your piece “title_firstnamelastname” with title and author included inside the document.

All visual submissions should be submitted as high resolution, 300 dpi JPEGs. You may send up to 10 images from the same body of work. These may be attached directly to the email or via Dropbox link. All files should be labeled “last name_first name”

Deadline: Wednesday, April 20. 
Email all questions to info@wussymag.com 
 

Click HERE for the submission form. 

Last night, RuPaul’s Drag Race kicked off it’s 10th season (thirteen if you include All Stars)!

Before we spill all the T, let's celebrate this milestone for the LGBTQ community!!! The fact that the show has only grown in popularity is a testament to the resilience of the LGBTQ+ community and the art form of drag.

This season promises to be a season full of gag-worthy moments so let’s dive right in, shall we?
 

Werk Room Lewks

Eureka || If it was my ass, I would have walked back into the werk room in the same outfit that I left in, crutches and all. Then I would’ve slammed down them crutches and said “Let’s pick up where we left of shall we?”…..but ya know the Phoenix lewk was cute….lighten up on the eyes tho bae.

Asia O’Hara || Kameron may get all the love for the trade of the season, but I’m here to tell you…. Asia could holla in or out of drags. I’m a sucker for fringe, and that outfit was so god-damn right!

Miz Cracker || I have found my new favorite queen!! Before the promos came out, I didn’t know much about her, but since then I have devoured every Youtube video and makeup tutorial she has put out. She is my new favorite and I predict she will be Top 4 and TBH I can’t wait till her and Bob have their own Viceland show, because that needs to be a THING! Also I was so here for that lewq—that color was DIVINE on her and the hair?! Shut up and take my money now!

Blair St. Clair || Which producer brought their son to werq and decided to let them compete? Oh wait, that’s the queen who BROKE HER GOD DAMN COURT ORDER TO APPEAR ON DRAG RACE?! CMON TMZ QUEEN!

Bob the Drag…. I mean Monet X Change || I know they are sisters, but Monet is going to have to step that pussy up and prove she is her own queen, because all I'm getting is Bob 2.0

Kameron Michaels || TRADE TRADE TRADE!!! Now that we’ve settled that, the hair said FUCK ME, but the dress said Forever 21, Spring 2016.

Mayhem Miller || FINALLY!!! I have been waiting for Mayhem for YEARS! If that lewk was any indication, Mayhem AINT JOKING BITCH!

Kalorie Karbdashian || NEXT!…..JK Miss thing….but seriously lose the shake and go’s.

Monique Heart || MEH! I dunno, I just didn’t like the lewq. It looked like something a newbie queen would buy from a older pageant queen at her Yard Sale.

The Vixen || LOVE LOVE LOVE! Vixen has some huge shoes to fill as the last few season have given us drag superstars from Chicago!

Vanessa Mateo || Meh again, y’all! It wasn’t terrible but I also have a hard time remembering what she wore.

Aquaria || If you want me to blow smoke up her unpadded ass, you came to the wrong place. She just rubs me all kinds of the wrong way. From her super conceited and entitled attitude to that TERRIBLE HAIRLINE!!!  She looks like Jim Carrey from Dumb and Dumber in that red turtleneck and please stop doing the Trixie-as-RuPaul head movements.

Mini Challenge

IM SO FUQQQQQING STOKED TO SEE A MINI CHALLENGE!!! I loved seeing some OG members and fan favorites! Ongina (who HAS to be on AS4), Trixie (SUE ME BITCH), Kim Chi, Bob, and Manilla were my favorites, though everyone looked so damn good!

These were my Mini Challenge Standouts: 

Mayhem ||  BITCH DID A CARTWHEEL IN A GOWN!!!

Cracker || We learn the Bob connection, and she could just flounder around for hours and I’d give it dollars

Vixen || She can dance it the house down boots—did we ever figure out what that means?

Monet X Change || She was serving it to you, honey. I love the triple dip, and her personality shined through the entire time. A well deserved win for Monet and Ru-dempition, in my mind.

Maxi Challenge

The Maxi Challenge this week is actually a throwback to Season 1 with the very first challenge ever on Drag Race. Drag on a Dime time y’all! It separates the queens who had nice clothes made/styled for them vs the queens that have amazing taste and can sew!

The werk room is pretty calm, all things considered. It doesn’t look the producers are trying to get them to cry off their makeup while getting ready, at least not yet….

Runway

RuPaul’s catsuit with the sweeping white hair, may just be the best she’s ever looked. I’m glad to see her hair, makeup, and styling all are back together. Xtina as a judge was awesome! Compared to some of the other guest judges, she had some very constructive critiques.

The runway was a MESS and proved that most of the queens have great style, but when it comes to execution, taste isn’t always automatic.

My Standouts:
Cracker
Mayhem
Monique (I’M STIlL FUQQING GAGED SHE WASN'T IN THE TOP!! BLAIR?!?! SERIOUSLY?!)

Mayhem ends up winning in a STUNNING trash bag and glove outfit that would give most of the designers on Project Runway a run for their money in the unconventional challenge.

Vanessa and Kalorie deservedly end up in the bottom. Both lewqs were rough and Vanessa’s in particular added more weight to her body and ended up looking like she rolled through some six year olds birthday party.

The LSFYL

We get the pleasure of having a song that is one of the guest judges and TBH I was ready to quit it all if we didn’t get an Xtina song. I’m still mad about that homophobic moment of AS3 where we had Emma Bunton but no Spice Girls LSFYL.

Anyways…..back to the matter at hand I just wrote Corn…..wait what was the question?

OH!

Kalorie. It was hers from go. If we needed a nail, it had to be Vanessa slipping all up on that terrible tulle and then the juxtaposition to Kalorie pulling out that $$ on the downbeat and dropping to a split.

My Current Top 4:
Cracker
Mayhem
Monet
Vixen

Stay tuned next week for more Rucaps!

WUSSY is proud to present poetry by Francis Ray. 
If you would like to send in a writing submission, please contact Nicholas Goodly. 

Francis Ray is a writer, musician, and a dirty boot-wearing dad.

I’m gonna start by holding nothing back…..

This had to be the most lackluster episode of the franchise in the last few years. From the mini challenge to the challenge and even the runway. It was just kinda…..
 

When the episode starts there’s already a hole in our hearts because Vanjie has sashayed away. I REALLY hope they bring her back for 11. Even though Kalorie won that first lip sync, this episode provide she’s Grade A filler HENNY!

The highlight of the werkroom and maybe the week is Vixen calling out Aquaria for acting like she was un-bothered by Miz Cracker’s makeup choices. Aquaria spat off at the mouth how she felt Cracker has been coming for her gig, but didn’t want to be as bold to her face. The Vixen wasn’t having ANY of it HENNY, and told what had really happened while they were on the main stage.

Vixen officially has the role of whistleblower of the season! I had some strong ass T and can tell y’all this isn’t the last we’ve seen of the Vixen vs Aquaria storyline. Shit is gonna get gaggy!

The mini challenge was just a glorified makeshift Rupaul music video ft. Andy Cohen. Remember how last week I was so excited to see a mini-challenge? Yea I take all that shit back and want a full refund! The tags are still attached and I got the receipt!

The main challenge this week is to perform PharmaRusical. Alyssa Edwards is the choreographer for the musical, and thank god! This episode needed some comedy gold pumped into it. This musical is honestly the worst musical they’ve ever done (Bitch Perfect, you’re safe bitch). I watched the challenge a few times, because to be honest nobody really stood out.

The Runway theme was the 11th best lewk you brought to Drag Race….I mean “best drag”. The runway was so lackluster that white Hollywood has nominated it for an Oscar. Jk miss thing….but seriously y’all need to step that pussy up, because there are THOUSANDS of queens dying to get on that show.

Top 4 Lewks

Monique Heart - There is NO WAY Monique deserved to be anywhere near the bottom.

The Vixen - Fan them flames HENNY! YASSSSSSS!

Miz Cracker - Very on brand.

Dusty Ray Bottoms - She took Michelle’s criticism and grew from it, bitch looked FIERCE!

Bottom 4 Lewks

Kalorie - Girl. Your hair looked like one of my Barbies that got burried in my toy chest. NO MAAM!

Eureka - I’ve seen Eureka make Lewks that we’re 10000% better than that jumpsuit.

Kameron - It was just kinda basic, and I really didn’t like the makeup. IMO she lost her win on the runway.

Monét X Change - NO!

The Vixen ends up winning, and honestly she deserved it. If it wasn’t for her, this episode would’ve been a bust. Her and maybe Dusty were the only two queens whose stock rose this week.

The LSFYL ends up being between Eureka and Kalorie. Honestly Ru could’ve sent them both home and brought back Vanjie, but I get it...you gotta give Eureka that comeback storyline. Eureka stays...for now but unless she can flip that shit into a 180, her days are numbered.

Stray Observations

Ru and Michelle’s bit reminded me of when I’m really pissed at my best friend, but she won’t let me stay mad at her.

The guest judges this season are excellent! Halsey and Padma Lakshmi we’re both quick and gave excellent critisim to the queens and had an excellent rapport with Ru and Michelle.

“Don’t be sorry. Be fierce!” May be the best thing Ru has ever said and those are words to live by. Quick someone needlepoint that onto a pillow and sell it on Etsy...mama need!

Miz Cracker respectfully seemed very upset that Aquaria would accuse her of stealing makeup Lewks. Aquaria has officially pissed me off and I’m done with her problematic ass.

It has become obvious that they cast 3-4 filler queens every season. This really is a shame, because you have queens like Mayhem who have auditioned every year and deserve it, and then you have queens like Kalorie who shouldn’t get on after their first attempt.

Oooooooohhhhh GURL! Post Drag Race walking around like…

Thank the Sky Wizard!!! Mercury being full of Haterade and that travesty that was the Meh-sical had me like...

This is easily the best episode this season and one of the best in recent memory. From the mini challenge to the LSFYL, there was so much YAAAAAASSSSS-ING and gag worthy moments to be had!

The episode picks up with round 2 of the Aquaria vs. Vixen drama. See what had happened was, Aquaria was salty that Vixen borrowed Monique’s wig for her 11th best lewk you brought to Drag Race... I mean “best drag” runway. TBH that wasn’t anyone’s best drag so it really doesn’t matter— more T on this drama later mama.

The mini challenge was HILARIOUS! I know I told all y’all that I’m returning the mini challenges for a full refund, but now I’m back to repurchase, HENNY.

There were a lot of great performances in the Mini Challenge, but Monét X Change had me DYING y’all. Her portrayal of a “Northern Ireland” girl was so OTT it was right.

The maxi challenge this week was the biggest let down. The queens had to sell dating apps by making ads for them. In what could’ve easily been one of the most memorable challenges in Drag Race herstory, the queens just kinda went through the motions.

If I had to pick a favorite, it would be team End of Days. From Miz Cracker’s demonic voices to Eureka’s slaps, this team really shined. Blair was an excellent team leader and allowed all the queens to excel at their strengths.

Miz Cracker

The other two groups were such a mess that it gives Shakesqueer a run for its money (JK miss thang... you’re safe). The only highlight from the other teams was Asia’s amazing performance as  “Madam Buttrface” that stole the whole damn skit.

Back in the werkroom, the girls getting ready for the runway gave us more of the Aquaria vs. Vixen drama, where Vixen clearly sets Aquaria real straight for good on the damn Wig-gate scandal. I told y’all last week that wasn’t the end of their drama, and mama... it still ain’t over just yet and that’s the T.

The werkroom also gives us our first cry sesh of the season. Blair talks about her super religious family and how privileged she is to have them all be supportive and loving of her and her life. Dusty then tells us the story that unfortunately way too many of us know. A story about a family who’s not accepting of her sexual orientation or drag, and instead of accepting her, tries to convert her to being straight. I’m glad to see the producers are doing a good job of letting us get to know more about every queen this season.

Runway

Category is: FEATHERS!

This was one of my favorite runways EVER! There were a lot of REALLY great lewks, and then there were some CHOICES that were made.

Top Lewks

Asia O’Hara - I was sold the second she stepped on the runway, and the gloves as the beak? GENIUS!

Kameron Michaels - YASSSSS BITCH WERK

Aquaria - I still hate that bitch, but she looked FIERCE!

Eureka - Full 180 achieved HENNY! Also shout out to my mom Buff Faye who made that lewk!

Monique Heart - What's Monique gotta do to get some love? She slayed 3 runways in my eyes and has nothing to show for it.

Bottom Lewks

Yuhau Hamasaki - Looking like a cheap version of Acid Betty’s Madonna runway.

Mayhem Miller - NO!

Dusty Ray Bottoms - IT'S A HARD NO FROM ME DAWG.

Asia O'Hara

Asia ends up being the winner with Mayhem and Yuhau in the bottom. This may have been the best judged runway and week ever, where I agreed with almost everything the judges said… except I would’ve put Miz Cracker in the Top 3 over Eureka.

Mayhem’s LSFYL performance of Celebrity Skin by Hole will go down as one of the top performances in the herstory of Drag Race. It was a slaughtering and Yuhau never stood a chance! Mayhem clearly has a fire lit under her ass, and sadly Yuhau sashays away.

Stray Observations

The air date for this episode fell on the 24th anniversary of Kurt Cobain's death. Ru, Courtney and Kurt were good friends, so having Courtney there but not Kurt felt bittersweet to me, but may have not phased younger viewers.

Mayhem running across the table to get away from the spider is a big mood, and honestly me running away from my financial and personal obligations in 2018.

Mama Ru clearly had a bad cold, or strep when they filmed this episode. It shows her dedication to the brand to push through, but it wouldn’t be the worst idea to have Michelle step in at least in the werkroom. I’m just trying to make sure Mama Ru don’t die y’all (at least not till Brigitte Bidet gets on).

It’s clear why Untucked is back, cuz that Ishhhhh was straight FIRE! The Vixen wasn’t done with Aquaria and REALLY lets her have it. Vixen is well aware of the “angry black female” stereotype that she is trying to get cast in, but she’s not that type of girl. She’s protecting her talent and rightful spot in this competition. The saddest part of Untucked is rather than learn a valuable lesson from her new sisters, Aquaria just shuts down and rejects a conversation about race that honestly any of us white folks need to listen to from our black family members.

“One of my favorite clients is a stripper,” isn’t a phrase I’ve ever said out loud before; not because I’m ashamed, but out of respect for said client’s privacy. I like to think that I treat all of my clients with the same amount of respect, whether they hire me to provide content writing, administrative services, consult, or create a corporate video script - but now that artist/stripper/gerontologist Meagan Jain is “out” with the fact that she has been working as a stripper for two years, it seems necessary to draw attention to the duality (tripality? quadrupality?) of her being.

I first internet-met Jain almost two years ago, with her hiring me, a freelance writer with a newly formed digital copywriting agency, for blog writing services for her website, Ageless interAction. AI is a nonprofit based in Atlanta that works to reframe our idea of aging; they do this by bringing art classes to nursing homes and senior communities throughout the Greater Atlanta area and beyond.

I don’t like old people—or rather, I didn’t, and I would almost-proudly declare this to anyone who would listen. Now I know that they’re actually called Elders, and I was being an asshole and letting my past experiences of being dragged into nursing homes to read to older adults with my mother from a young age was tinting my negative worldwide even further into the gray. Jain taught me that, before I even met her.

Her candor has always been disarming—at our first meeting, she casually worked into conversation that she was a stripper (as well as a business owner who holds her degree in gerontology - hence the stripper + gerontologist = stripperologist thing). I remember thinking that it made perfect sense—when she walks into a room, eyes naturally gravitate towards her. The folks that I’ve met working within the sex industry all have the same aura that, if pressed, one can only simply describe as an inner confidence that you could only obtain through ascending to a higher knowledge of your own sexual power—or just by being told you’re beautiful every day.

Now that Jain has “come out” as a stripper, she is holding a workshop, entitled Sensual Slut, to give women and non-binary individuals the same empowered feeling she has received through her artistry in stripping—all within a safe(r) space. During the workshop, attendants will learn a dance routine, and then use said dance routine to paint a canvas with their bodies. Oh, did I mention you should bring underwear you don’t mind getting paint on, because you’ll be pouring it all over your body and then dancing on a canvas? Yeah, there’s that. Read below to find out more, and get your tickets today, sexy girls.

More on the inaugural Sensual Slut workshop:

The workshop debuts April 28th from 8-10PM. It will be a safe, immersive, and intimate space for self-identifying women and gender fluid individuals to dive deep into their inner erotic awareness through painting with their bodies. Through her work as an artist creating large scale urban murals, painting, and the overall act of creation, Meagan utilizes her whole body. Meagan is also a stripper and has learned the immense power she has within and from her body. This workshop is a endeavor to empower participants to find and experience their inner sensuality through painting with their bodies.

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Anna Jones is a writer and producer currently based in Atlanta. She is the proud owner of digital copywriting agency Girl.Copy and independent film production company Tiny Park Productions. She loves a lot of stuff, but mainly: her husband, kid, and cat, writing and filmmaking, coffee and Diet Coke, millennial pink, sushi, gay stuff, and horror films.