labels

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May I Have Another Label For My Ever Changing Body?

The image above features Michaela Stark on display at the Milan Fashion Week in 2024. Michaela is an Australian “body-morphing” artist currently located in London, who has made several headlines for her ‘Panty’ clothing line, which consists of lingerie and undergarments geared for “all bodies.” She perfectly captures the ways in which our clothing shapes and defines us, and never the other way around. I found Michaela in a sea full of Instagram models, body dysphoric rhetoric, and promotions of every possible procedure to fix every possible flaw of the body, media we consume every single second. Her work was eye-catching, shocking, and…normal.

What is possibly normal about contouring the body in such outrageous ways only to be put on display? Exactly. And yet it has been normalized in every other context by labels. The thin bodies we have shoved down our throats (while completely dismissing our own) are fit to be morphed and changed however need be, whether that be through soft shapewear or restricting corsets. Thin bodies are the ideal, and they must be accompanied by hairless and flawless skin. There mustn’t be a blemish in sight, a wrinkle to see, a stretch mark to grieve. Michaela Stark does this same thing, but we know it’s different. Except we know it’s not different but media has told us it is and so it must be. We all share the burden of having a “broken” body, the only difference is whether your body was born “broken” or conditioned into being “broken.” We all have something we must be desperately fixing at any moment.

And even through political, social, and public statements that individuals like Michaela Stark make (whether that be through voice or body) where is the representation for men? Society holds tight to how a woman should be, and perhaps we are given some lenience because our bodies are meant to change (not by much though, don’t get ahead of yourself) through the natural processes of pregnancy and birth (yes, I know how demoralizing that is to women anyway), but men don’t get this recognition because it’s socialized to us that they don’t need it. A man’s body should only change for the better: gaining muscle, growing taller, being smarter, stoic. Women are the clay that is never left untouched, always malleable in another person’s hands. Men are the statues, the pyramids, never to fall or be broken down. And a statue should NEVER change. Who knows what waits for you when you don’t identify as either of those things.

My point is that labels are damning, the same way our bodies are socialized and conditioned to be damned. Whether you learn this through the words of Stryker’s My Words to Frankenstein, the sociological concepts of Patricia Collins, or the memoirs in Duane and Rajunov’s Nonbinary, we need no explanation for how this affects us. Through personal experience, we already know. The next step is how we break down these labels that separate us from our bodies, and innovators like Michaela Stark are a perfect example of such. It’s also critical we nip this body-dysphoric-rhetoric in the bud, right at the source: by teaching our children to evolve and grow for their own personal empowerment and not to fit social code. Our girls must know courage and strength the same way our boys receive it. Our boys must know emotion and compassion the way our girls receive it. Most importantly, I think, is instilling these traits as good qualities of a person, rather than subjecting them to a gender binary that supports no one.

Michaela Stark represents a movement of bodies, and in that name we must assume this includes EVERY BODY. If we wish to combat the social construct of the body as its ingrained in our everyday reality, let us begin with abstract thinking.

Sources (and/or more to read):

Magnificent Michaela Stark

Michaela Stark Milan Fashion Week 2024

Michaela Stark in Fashion Film

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I am my own label

I am me. I own no label but my name. for a major portion of my life, I identified as a lesbian; it was a truth to me, made a fact to anyone who asked. while it was something I obviously resided with, my friends at the time made it out to be my whole personality; not a day went by without being reminded of my orientation by my friends, it was all I was. what made matters worse is that I was hyper femme too. pink was in every outfit, even my all black outfit was paired with a pink sparkly belt, so to the world I was seen as the typical heterosexual ditsy pink girl. my friends constantly probed me to change, I couldn’t be a lesbian and dress the way I did; I needed to constantly be wearing markers. I was a label, only one label, nothing more. it didn’t matter that I loved drag, wrestling, building, coding, and makeup; none of my interests, which made up who I was, actually mattered to them. I was the butt of every gay joke and the first person looked at when the topic came about. As time persisted, I came to explore that women were not the only people I felt a gravitation towards, I confided in my friends about it, and the first thing they said was “Well, what are you then?”. It was like I was letting them down. within that moment, I felt something shift within me. I no longer wish to be a label, just a label. I like who I like, and that is a part of me, just a part. I know now that that friend group was not the best for me, and I do not blame them for their actions, as during this time, chronic online-ness became a pressing issue. they learned to gatekeep the community because the people they adored online were also gatekeeping, but I lost interest in being let in; I just wanted to be myself with no bounds. with this being said, I am still a very active participant in queer rallies and events. I strive to make sure that everyone I meet has a safe space within myself. not a day goes by where I’m not reminding people they are allowed to be who they are, open and free without constraints on being “enough” (whatever enough may be). No one will be made to feel the way I felt within those years, as if who I was was not enough to be let in. I now have a much better support group in friends, and I am forever grateful for them. They allow and help me explore who I am as a person, and remind me that I am complex and composed of a remarkable number of elements. in all, I am more than what anyone will ever make of me. I am queer; it’s just another part of me.

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Beyond Labels

Label the foundation of modern society. Why is labeling yourself or someone so important? Why does it matter so much to someone what my gender or sexuality is? I never really thought about this until recently and the more I think about it the more I question everything. When I was young, I always assumed I was a girl and straight but as I got older and learned more about myself, I learned that no I am not. I learned more about myself. I would describe myself as gender fluid, pansexual and asexual. At the same time labels are not that important to me when come to gender personally but as for sexuality it matter more because I have been with a man for a few years and because of this many people assume I am straight when I tell them I’m pan they seemed confused why I be with a man this irritates me internally because it make me feel like I am not a part of the LGBTQ+ community this way of thinking I have faced more by those in the community then thoughts outside of the community.

Until I started back at college in fall of 2023 when I met the amazing group of people I love dearly I always felt like an outsider I did not feel wanted in the LGBTQ+ community nor the straight people community I felt like I was just drifting in space in a way, this not feeling like I belong the more I go to therapy and work on myself the ,ore I realized this sense of not belonging truly affected me. In the book nonbinary I relate with many of the stories although myself am not nonbinary the questioning of faith and the not feeling like I belong and the questioning of why labeling matters so much. No matter if you feel labels are important to you personally or not, I think things like this should be spoken about more in society, so people like me and many others know they are not alone and feel like they belong somewhere in this strange world we live in.

Pansexual and Genderfluid flag.

Be your authentic self always

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Why Do I Feel Like Nothing When Everyone Else Feels Like Something?

Have you ever scrolled online and see people confidently declaring their gender and sexuality like they’ve had it figured out since birth? “I’m nonbinary.” “I’m a lesbian.” “I’m pan.” Meanwhile, I’m sitting here wondering, why do I feel like nothing? This question has been bouncing around my head for a while now. But after reading Nonbinary: Memoirs of Gender and Identity, specifically Christopher Soto’s “What Growing Up Punk Taught Me About Being Gender Nonconforming” and Aubri Drake’s “Clothes make the Gender/Queer,” made me realize that maybe this feeling of nothingness isn’t emptiness, but simply uncertainty in a world that demands certainty from everyone.

Soto writes, “I tell my friend who still presents outside the binary that I want to be alive. I want to live. And so this is my gender: a desire to live.” That line hit me like a ton of bricks. For me, identifying as a woman has always been about survival. It’s safer, easier, less questioned. I don’t have to explain myself or fear someone reacting violently because I don’t fit their idea of what a woman “should” be. Soto ties their fear to capitalism and violence because the way safety, livelihood, and even love feel like privileges granted to those who conform. Sometimes I wonder if I’d feel freer to explore my gender if the world wasn’t punishing those who step outside the binary.

Growing up, everyone labeled me a “lesbian” before I could even figure it out on my own. I was the tomboy wearing my dad’s clothes, obsessed with comic books instead of makeup. My mom used to tell me to “act like a lady,” for simply sitting in my own home with my legs open. Then puberty hit, and suddenly I had curves I didn’t ask for. Aubri Drake’s words that “clothes started clinging to my body in all the wrong places… they stopped being a form of expression and instead became material to hide in”described exactly how I felt. I started hiding under oversized clothes because my body no longer felt like mine, but a spectacle for others. 

For years, I bounced between labels from bi, lesbian, pan,  and now to queer. Each one feeling right for a second and wrong the next. I even dated men exclusively at one point just to prove something, though my attraction to women has always been stronger. Every time I picked a label, I felt like a fraud and that everyone knew I was out of place. 

When it comes to gender, being called “masculine” or “feminine” makes me physically recoil. I don’t feel like either. I identify as a woman because it’s practical since it’s what fits easiest in the world’s boxes, but that’s never been the only reason. I’ve briefly thought about identifying as nonbinary, but fear always stops me: fear of losing cis privilege, fear of not being taken seriously, fear of violence. Like Soto, I get what it means to feel “illegitimate” just for wanting to live safely.

That’s why the label queer has been a relief. It’s flexible. It’s fluid. It lets me breathe. I don’t have to get a headache by searching for answers I don’t have yet. My gender and sexuality are personal, evolving, and maybe a little messy, but at the end of the day, that’s ok. 

A few months ago, before reading these essays, I went down a rabbit hole on Reddit trying to understand why I felt “genderless.” I remember scrolling for hours through different threads from queer and neurodivergent people describing the same sense of in-betweenness I couldn’t name. One that stood out to me was called “Does anybody else feel genuinely genderless?” on r/NonBinary, more specifically this one quote:

“When I lean more towards masc or femme with my presentation that’s all I feel it is — a presentation. Or really what it actually is is society interpreting my presentation as gendered. Ultimately it’s still just me. I don’t feel more feminine when I wear skirts — but it’s perceived that way.”

When I lean more towards masc or femme with my presentation that’s all I feel it is — a presentation. Or really what it actually is is society interpreting my presentation as gendered. Ultimately it’s still just me. I don’t feel more feminine when I wear skirts — but it’s perceived that way.”

That line felt like someone cracked my brain open and wrote down my thoughts. It echoed everything Soto and Drake described; that gender can feel more like a performance that others interpret than a truth you embody. Re-reading that thread and other ones I mindlessly scrolled actually helped me realize I wasn’t broken for feeling detached from gender. I was just tired of performing one.

I still feel like “nothing,” but I don’t see that as a bad thing anymore. That nothingness feels like freedom; free to move, question, and change without being boxed in. Reading these essays made me realize I’m not alone in that uncertainty. There’s comfort in knowing gender and sexuality don’t have to be solved; they can just evolve. Maybe “nothing” is true freedom. Maybe my gender isn’t nothing — maybe it’s just mine.

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A Home Within the Body?

So after reading a bit of Exile and Pride, I thought it interesting that Eli Clare considered his body as what was home to him.  To me, home had always been anything BUT my body.  For instance, the roof I live under is considered home to me, the neighborhood I live in is considered home to me, being surrounded by my family and their mannerisms and so on.   When looking at what my body is to me, it’s just simply that . . . my body.  I look at it as a piece of property owned by me.

Then Clare starts putting labels on his body, such as queer and disabled, which describes who he is and how it describes his body as home.  In relation to my own body, I’ve never considered even putting labels on it because the idea never occurred to me.  Don’t get me wrong, my body is very special to me, because it was given to me specially when I was born into this world, but I just can’t come to the point of naming it home, and putting labels on it.  That seems kind of abnormal to me.  Instead, on an ending note, I’d like to also look at my body simply as a miraculous piece of work that serves as a protection for my soul, which is in charge of my inner thoughts, actions, etc., contained inside.