“I pushed and shoved and laughed and danced in big black shoes that would later bruise my feet, next to a girl who would later love me back.”
Over the past several months, I have watched my surroundings transform into some sort of fictional dystopia. Despite this, seeing illustrations of America Chavez have filled me with hope.
“I use my art as a form of activism. I want my art to convey pride and courage, fearlessness through bold color. Creatively, this IS the time for artists to rise and do our part.”
We talked to One Day at a Time writers, Becky Mann and Michelle Badillo, about gay representation on TV, how Autostraddle came to be in the script, their queer TV roots, what kind of LGBT stories are missing from TV and what’s in store for Elena in a potential next season.
A love letter to the only woman that stole my heart and snatched my scalp at the same damn time.
My journey to self-love through the influence of Whitney Houston’s life and music.
I’m guest editing an essay series for Autostraddle next month and am looking for personal essays about how your black queer life has been saved or influenced by art in all forms, from television to sculpture.
“What ultimately makes Moonlight such a heartbreaking film to me is that despite these reflections and ways I am ever-present to myself, I’m not actually in the film. And yet, here is my masculinity – both what I am and what I strive to be – showcased in the most honest ways.”
“The Other Love Story was such a breath of fresh air in many ways. Aadya and Aachal felt like any other regular person: they were not coded Butch or Femme, like too many of these stories tend to do, and neither were overly Westernized nor overly exotified. They just were.”
Is there enough room to practice compassion at the same time that we notice we’re being manipulated and dehumanized? How much of our own humanity is taken away from us when we don’t allow ourselves the emotional space to practice love in any circumstance?
2016 has seen the expansion of black storytelling on major TV networks with shows like Insecure and Atlanta, but Brown Girls’ DIY attitude and background opens up the possibilities of experiences that can be shared.
It wasn’t until I listened to A Seat At The Table, that I finally felt like I could put my armor down.
“Love in partnership as colonized/racialized bodies is courageously undressing the walls we have built to survive and showing others the chaos that war has left behind.”
Finally I got to be unapologetically queer amongst this familia that came together in the face of rejection from the homes we came from or by the systems that governed us in the US/Mexico border community that is the Rio Grande Valley.
“There’s nothing more I want to remember than every moment and sensation we shared. Our grinding hips at Queer Cumbia, feeling your drunken sweat drip onto my freshly implanted tits. The way we sloppily made out and smeared our red and burgundy lips all over our mouths, noses, forehead, and neck.”
It was the end of my innocence when I realized that being Black or being Queer in this country could get you killed. This was the time before Hurricane Katrina, before 9/11, before Ferguson. Before. Before. Before.
In honor of celebrating Latinxs during Hispanic Heritage Month, Autostraddle curated a collection of essays by lesbian, bisexual, queer and trans Latina and Latinx writers to showcase our experiences, our pulse.
As a smol, Brown consumer of Pumpkin Spice Lattes, I want to make the case that the PSL is *not* the Basic One in that latte-white girl relationship.
This is a story centered around poor Black and Latinx communities, their struggles with institutional abandonment, and their journeys to self-love and empowerment.
Wilson-Yang deftly weaves and unweaves the threads of narrative tropes that have come to dominate the telling of the stories of trans women, lesbians, migrants, and Chinese North Americans.