I am constantly policing my body. It’s as if I’m being watched at all times. I’ve been taught to hate my body, even in private. I’ve spent my whole life retransforming my face and my hair and my personality to fit some ideal. When I was younger and getting into hardcore and metal, I began changing my appearance, as one does. I wore intense winged eyeliner every day and never left the house without a band shirt on. Heavy music scenes are dominated by white men and the only other representation I saw was from cis white women. Being brown and queer in that space, I felt uninvited. The way I inserted myself was by constantly presenting myself as belonging. I felt like I had something to prove. Without my gear, I was invisible and my passion for music was unconvincing. I was dressing the way I thought I was supposed to in order to seek that validation. My self-esteem was so reliant on the way I presented myself because I attached so much meaning to my appearance. 

 It was even more confusing to feel so unaccepted and alienated from my own community for being a “black sheep.” I was being ridiculed by my family and judged by strangers who didn’t think I belonged in the scene. How many times can a teenager be forced to “name 3 songs” by creepy middle aged men? The insecurity and trauma of being a queer POC in the heavy music scene made it necessary for me to police my clothes and my appearance every single day to ensure that I was conforming enough. 

Slowly that started getting exhausting to keep up with. For most people who dress alternatively, it feels liberating. For me, it often felt forced. It felt like a loss of self when I slowly transitioned away from that constant performance. It was hard and weird to detach from that. I had aligned my worth to my appearance after fighting so long to prove to myself that I belonged. I had to relearn my passion for music while discovering what it meant to just exist in my body. I still enjoy dressing the part and I will never stop flaunting my collection of band tees, but I no longer feel such pressure to attach my identity and interests to my appearance. 

And even as I am just existing, my identities still cause me to police my body. A while ago I was perusing some street shops when I decided it would be funny to walk into a store I had previously had a weird experience in. The first time I went there the owner followed me and my friend around and surveilled us to the point where we felt too uncomfortable to stay. So this time I wanted to see if it was the same. There was an old white guy in there whose eyes would not stop tracing me. My brain was racing trying to figure out why he was staring in disgust. Is he being creepy? Is it because I’m a brown feminine presenting person in a Bad Brains shirt? My intersecting identities made it impossible for me to decipher why this man was making me feel so uncomfortable. My prior experiences with these types of stares instantly brought me fear and confusion and anxiety. 

For people like me, it’s hard to navigate self-discovery in a space that doesn’t always accept you. It’s even harder when you do find yourself and still have to reckon with the fear of safety because of it. Finding good representation of queer folk and POC making waves in hardcore was a game changer for me. Seeing myself in them affirmed my new embodiment. All I know is that I have nothing to prove and my body is not an exhibit to be scrutinized.