Learn Queer Disability

Dry Eye Disease as DABDA

Thu, 18 Dec 2025 17:29:46 GMT

Dry Eye Disease as DABDA

WRITTEN BY STEVEN C. WRIGHT, EDITED BY ADRIENNE AUCLAIR

DENIAL : and it’s funny because the acronym for dry eye disease is DED, which sounds like dead. and it’s funny because if I do enough cardio, I will circulate the inflammation out of my eyes, which is funny because that must mean that the only thing that’s chronic is my bad workout ethic. and it’s funny because nobody believes that chronic disease, on me, is anything but a joke. and it’s funny when I wait for the punchline. and as I wait for the sound of the audience laughter, it’s funny how focusing with my ears will burn my eyes. and it’s funny how tomorrow I will wake up red. and it will be funny when I go, “ well, there’s always tomorrow .” and it’ll be funny when tomorrow will be. and it’s funny because tomorrow never is.

ANGER : and it’s fucking hilarious that these are the just deserts of someone who lies to their optometrist. that I replaced my contacts every two weeks. that I didn’t often sleep in them. that I was washing with soap every single time I took them out and didn’t wear them the entire day. and it’s fucking hilarious how I didn’t see a bad thing coming. and it’s fucking hysterical how I did, in fact, shield my eyes. and it’s my life’s biggest joke that I won’t ever really know, for sure, what’s caused this. and it’s my life’s biggest punchline that I hold peace talks with my eyes, but they’re too angry, too burning red to negotiate.

BARGAINING : and I will slap my knee as I beg for an answer in an A deficiency, injecting carrot juice into my scleras, turning them red to burnt sienna, thinking how much vitamin do you need? and I will walk a few miles on a treadmill each day until I wash my eyes in sweat, thinking I am made of eyedrops and I will work for my prescription. and I will waste my money on supplements and burn my face on warm compresses and I will slap my knee until I only see white. until I only see the whites of my eyes. and until I see white, I will only see red.

DEPRESSION : and it’s a complete joke.

ACCEPTANCE : and it’s a great bit

of strength that I need to cry when I can’t

make myself make tears. and it’s a great bit of strength I need to use a screen. and it’s a great big shame that my eyes forgot how to breathe. inhale, inhale, inhale . my eyes are choking on air because they became gills. inhale, inhale, inhale . in September, my doctor will say that I look better, and I will disagree. inhale, inhale, inhale. I will want to scream tears at him, and I won’t be able to. inhale, inhale, inhale . and I will leave his office with a chronic dis-

illusionment

and it’s a great bit of strength that I need when I need to cry, but I can't make myself make tears. but I can still breathe. inhale, inhale, ex-

ist.
exhale.

Steven C. Wright (he/him) is a Queer poet and prose author from Edison, New Jersey. He has a B.A. in English from Rutgers University-New Brunswick, and runs a small poetry workshop group every week. His work has appeared in Frontier Poetry, Serotonin Press, BRAWL, and elsewhere.

-ABOUT THE AUTHOR-

Binder

Mon, 10 Nov 2025 15:05:46 GMT

BINDER

WRITTEN BY BOOKER G. A. FENIKS - EDITED BY REMI STAMATELLOS

My first, real binder was a secret. A deeply shameful thing I prepared for months in advance. I remember the sharp chill of the tape measure when I wrapped it around my chest, and the frantic scrambling for the pencil as I jotted all the tiny, scratchy numbers down. I remember the hushed counting under my breath, and the faint tok-tok as my father ascended the stairs. Later, I had a friend order it for me, slipped the money to her in an envelope in class, then ripped open the package in the park near uni when she passed it back.

My first binder was a mystery. It was two layered-on bras a pair of tights I cut up, and a piece of fabric I had sewn together. The videos I watched were deleted before the hour was up. There was nothing there to hide, there was nothing there to see. The binder was a fanciful delusion of a young, troubled mind, you see. There was nothing there...

Then came summer camp. I was freshly sixteen, and to the entire group we looked like a pair of girls, two giggling besties. I don’t want to say we were in love, but I cherished their scent that permeated the fabric for years to come. They were older than me, it felt like, more mature, the Trans elder in this situation. Their makeshift binder was a corset they wore wrong on purpose, and they seemed like the smartest queer alive to my young mind.

My first proper method of binding was a second-hand corset I never washed, to retain a piece of them. Their sweat and body odour stuck to the fraying threads like honey and żelki to the roof of your mouth. The corset was mine, but I was theirs for years, and I was theirs for no more than a month.

I still wish we had gotten the room to ourselves, when the camp counselors split us apart because it was just obscene for two girls to be that intimate with one another. And the handholding was so much less intimate than me wearing their scent on my own body all summer.

The next year I was diagnosed autistic, a different kind of crazy to the fawning, fantasizing sickness of the prior summer. My mother began to understand in inches and increments, but she never really fell for it. Never really resolved to understand. Not when the first diagnosis had proven false, when the doctors in our quaint, country town said I was the healthiest baby girl. How dare these English monsters tell her that her daughter is so wrong?

If she had known, we never would have made the flight home, away from where I was born, to a country so accepting that I don’t need permission as an adult to change a name I never felt the comfort of. We would have remained where I began, living as a girl should, as an autistic girl should, and would that have been a crime? To deny me what we never would have known I was missing, if we had remained?

My mother never quite understood, never wanted to understand from the bottom of her ailing heart. Never wants to understand why I never wish to go back.

The binder, my memory of the scent of them, was the reason she relented, for the very first time.

My weighted blanket was a symptom of my routine mind and the changing times. She saw the binder, the corset, the fateless symbol of a failed summer love. And I told her I was autistic, that I craved the pressure, that I craved the feeling of something wrapping tightly around me like a warm hug. And I would be spitting out those words five years down the line. But, for now, I had a weighted blanket, because it was touch I craved, it was pressure, and it was love.

And the lie worked for a year.

When I came out as bisexual, fresh off the press of my first relationship, barely a ‘teen’ in my title, I was asked, directly: "but you don’t think you’re a boy too, right?" It was spoken in a different tongue, so excuse my fumbling translations of conversations I am unable to repeat verbatim to anyone.

I lied, in a language my ancestors fought to preserve, once upon a time: no. Of course not. I’m not a boy, mama.

I am not a boy, mama. I hate the feeling of skirts and tights, for claustrophobia is not an ailment but a symptom for me. I have sensory issues and autism, you know, so allow me the trousers and shorts, save me from the meltdown.

I am not a boy, mama. The research shows autistic girls do not like makeup. This you already know, when you powder my face and I feel ill, and I refuse to redden my lips with anything but blood.

I am not a boy, mama. I am not meek and sweet, I am cursed, I am sick, I am diseased with a thing you cannot cure me of. This, you know.

My first, real binder, that I lied and snuck around for, was my last. It held onto the scent of the factory that meticulously sewed its every stitch under the watchful gaze of metallic faces and LED eyes. It squeezed and it crushed, and there was no love behind it like a weighted hug.

Ten years after the lie that I could never be a boy.

Seven years after the summer love of camp that forced us apart. Six years after a pandemic-time diagnosis.

Four years after the hidden deals beneath university tables. Four years after the tearful truth, to which she told me "you scared me, I thought it was something worse."

I have not worn a binder in two years. I am not free, or safe, or loved, or protected. A new diagnosis arrived while I dealt with death and rebirth, with the inadequacy that only a university could impart upon its youngest and brightest. What once brought me comfort now brought with it pain, building up over the years like a single drop of water, constantly dripping away at the rock that it doesn’t know it harms along the way.

Having a disorder of the mind that constantly forces your body out of homeostasis is a chore. But it was the realization that I had a disorder of the body that made my bones crack and shiver at the simplest movement that really did me in. Because I cannot wear a binder with hypermobility, and a connective tissue issue that forces my ribs out of place without so much as a ‘bless you.’ And I find that there is a balance between happiness and pain that I cannot find the middle ground of. It is a tightrope I am not skilled enough to walk, and the fall beneath me isn’t into nothingness, but into a tumultuous water that has no care for the way it erodes my resolve.

I wore my first binder with the hope of feeling like myself. I wore my second with the hope of holding onto a love I knew I would never meet again. I wore my third with the hope of time passing quickly, and three years wouldn’t turn into eternity.

I have waited so long for a chance at being myself that my body has rebelled against me.

I believe we do harm to the kids by making them feel like binders are the only way. Weighted blankets are nice too, and hugs reign above all else.

I think we do harm to those most vulnerable of us, who we persuade into harming themselves for our own selfish wants. Because there is a whole world out there with people as numerous as the blades of grass upon your lawn, and as unique as the leaves that fall in Autumn. And putting all little boys into one box tells them they are not allowed to be leaves, they are to be the bladed soldiers of the lawn, so uniform and numerous, that you only notice their differences once they are gone. And what of the boys that wish to be dandelions instead?

I believe it is violence to only ever show images of a man who is just like the rest of them, flat chested and muscular. There is no healing in reusing the same model for every single iteration of the character, no matter the genre.

If boys aren’t told that they are allowed to be without binding, without chains to hold them down, how will they ever reach the stars?

I did not always know I was disabled. I did not know I was trans until puberty, the dread of every teen around. I did not know my mind and body were different until the damage was done, until the pain overwhelmed a spark I fought so hard to keep alight.

I am, at the end of the day, an autistic man with hEDS. Whether I am trans or not does not change that fact, neither does the country of my birth or the languages I speak.

I am proud, in some small sense, of the way my body and mind work, and I am proud of how far they have brought me. I mourn for the secrets I couldn’t spill without tears, and I mourn for the pain I couldn’t deal with sooner. Because there were moments when my binder saved me, when it protected me. And those moments are gone, smeared with the pain that I can’t shake away now.

I am happy with my chest, however long it took me to get here, however much my body forced my mind to accept it. If I received a million pounds tomorrow, I wouldn’t go straight to the operating table to bid the boys goodbye. I fought too hard to see them gone, now.

But there were moments where I wanted to see them as nothing more than pinhole scars, not from hatred but from the love for my mind that my body didn’t share.

And that scared, young boy searching for a hug from a blanket isn’t me now, and I’m fine with that. That scared, young boy who took comfort in the scent of another, and the promise of ‘one day’, has lived his due. He does not live on, in the same way a caterpillar does not continue to exist once it has melted and fused into the shape of a butterfly.

And I know he would be proud of me, of how far I have gone, despite the anger and the fear and the pain.

To be disabled is to make sacrifices, and to be yourself there need to be compromises. My sacrifice was the binder. My compromise was the binder.

Today, I find joy in the ankle-high boots I must wear for ankle support, and the blue, metal cane I swing around like a maniac. I take joy in the backpack I have covered in pins of my Special Interests, and in the way the short hairs on the back of my head feel under my fingers.

Tomorrow, who knows what will bring me joy, and what will bring me pain. But I know, for a fact, that never again will it be a binder.

CONTENT WARNINGS: ABLEISM, INTERNALIZED ABLEISM, MENTIONS OF HOMOPHOBIA & TRANSPHOBIA

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Booker G. A. Feniks (he/they) is a young, ambitious author of fantasy and comedy, who takes heavy inspiration from their experience as a queer, disabled immigrant. Previously published with the likes of A Coup of Owls Press, this is his first time publishing nonfiction with "Binder," their exploration of gender dysphoria, as seen through the eyes of an autistic teenager.

The Tired Revolution: Practicing Queer Crip Resistance

Tue, 04 Nov 2025 19:23:32 GMT

THE TIRED REVOLUTION: PRACTICING QUEER CRIP RESISTANCE

WRITTEN AND EDITED BY REMI STAMATELLOS

IMAGE CREDIT: DISABLED AND HERE

When tyranny strikes, intersectionally Queer & Disabled people are some of the first targets of bigotry and violence (especially if you're a Black or Brown individual). History lessons have told us protest is the only effective way to fight for our freedom. But what happens when that fight is inaccessible, life-threatening, or we are simply too unwell or exhausted to participate?

Queer, Trans, and Disabled folks have always been active in our own liberation, whether it's behind the scenes or at the front lines. Here are a few ways to resist fascism, whether it's from your bed or at city hall:

BEHIND-THE-SCENES WORK

Stealth activism is the backbone of any powerful movement. Below are a few accessible ways to advocate for yourself and communities outside of attending rallies:

Host online get-togethers & check-ins.

Building community, whether online or in-person, is an incredibly powerful way of resisting capitalism & independence culture. We need each other to survive and thrive. We remind each other what we are fighting for:

Make a group chat and set time aside (weekly, bi-weekly, monthly) to check in on everyone. Maybe you can play games, stream a film, or just complain about the state of the world.
Join a server or support group on Discord. I find groups that hold space for both the positive and negative aspects of our lived experience are most helpful.

Maintain and share cultural values & traditions.

One primary goal of fascism is to erode who we are and where we come from. Part of resistance means finding joy in and sustaining your cultural identity and traditions; as long as you are still here, no one has the authority to take your culture away:

Teach your Transfemme friend how to do eyeliner (if she wants).
Decorate your mobility aid with stickers, rhinestones, or flowers.
Give your friend a gender-affirming haircut.
Wear Queer symbols, like a carabiner, the pink triangle, or lavender.
Share a family recipe or host a multinational potluck. If it's more accessible to do it online, take pictures and describe it in detail.
Learn your native tongue and speak it, when you can, with family and friends.

Use free educational resources.

Learning about Queer/Disabled history, current events, political theory, and your rights doesn't always need to be expensive or complicated. Your local library and the *interwebs* will always have something to offer:

Library: Check out books, use public wi-fi, utilize free computer access, and check out a meeting or study room.
Online stuff: Download Wikipedia articles, browse the Internet Archive , and check out Marxist's Internet Archive or r/askhistorians.
Make sure to cross-check the source's credibility. Verify citations & author credentials, check for unsupported claims or sweeping statements, identify the intended audience, and check the date for recency (things change!).

Find your niche, and trade.

Your skills are invaluable to community-building. If you can't offer money, try bartering goods and services. Your abilities or tools can be traded for something that you might need or struggle with:

Good at growing and preparing food? Share it with your neighbors and friends!
Good at organizing? Work behind the scenes to plan a protest.
Good at communication? Mediate conflict between your group.
Good at writing and editing? Make copy to send to your friends and local representatives.
Know how to fix a car? Help your friend when it breaks down!
Let your community borrow your oven, printer, book collection, or already-made posters.

Your art matters.

Art is the heartbeat of revolution. It strengthens our resolve, it unites us, and it sends authoritarian governments a message of exactly what must change.

Make posters for protestors. I found 75 cent poster boards and a pack of markers for $2 (£1.5 or €1.75) at a local dollar store.
Make zines, share political art, and promote your friends who make art for a living.
Write non-fiction, poetry, opinion pieces, and publish them online and in print.
If you sell art, don't sell it for cheaper than it's worth. Art is a time-consuming labor of love. If you undervalue your art, it undercuts both yours and other people's hard work.

Share resources when you find them.

This goes hand-in-hand with building community and trading knowledge and skills.

Lost SNAP benefits: findhelp.org , feedingamerica.org
Find remote job opportunity in your friend's field? Share it!
Does your friend talk about experiencing chronic pain? Let them try your cane!
Found a good list of name suggestions? Give it!

Email & call your local representatives.

This is a well-known way to participate in politics from home. Here's how to take it a step further, without over-extending yourself:

Set a time that works best for your needs.
Choose one or two causes to participate in during a certain time period (weekly, monthly, etc.) and stick to a goal number of calls/emails. Do your best to reach it, but do not increase this number (trust me, it prevents burnout).
Make templates or read from a script to make the process more simple.

Stay present.

Doom-scrolling social media and constantly overwhelming yourself with news is not productive, it's paralyzing. Here's what I find helpful when looking to stay informed, but present:

Set aside a day of the week to update yourself on current events.
Touch grass, if possible. I mean it. We are not just fighting for the world inside our heads, but for the world we want to see.
If you can't leave your house, open your window or take a break from technology by reading a book or practicing a hobby. Try to listen to grounding music.
Practice rest as a necessary part of work. This will prevent burnout or crashes from happening sooner.

Reach out for help, pace yourself, and be mindful of spoons.

No one is capable of doing it all on their own. This is why it's so important to be mindful of your needs, triggers, and spoons (energy levels).

Take longer on a project if you need. Nothing can happen overnight, even if you're a fast-paced worker.
Disability and chronic illness can be unpredictable. If you can't make it this time, try to be there next time. Know your limits and communicate that you may not be consistently present.
Have grace with yourself and ask for what you need, even if you can't reciprocate immediately.

FRONT-END RESISTANCE

There are major access obstacles in the front lines of the revolution. There will always be a risk of violence, injury, or illness. But if you would like to protest and rally, there are still ways to participate:

Know your rights.

Know your rights is a safety & resource guide for Disabled protestors. I found it incredibly useful attending protests myself.

Get creative with mobility aids.

Bring a mobility aid, a comfortable chair, or a bed (for overnight) to accommodate for extended rallies.
Use mobility devices to block police access to sit-ins or protected buildings.
The 504 Sit-In protests are a great example of how Disabled protestors can occupy space and cause public interruptions.

Organize caravan protests.

For Disabled activists with mobility issues or concerns about direct bodily harm, injury, or illness, but still want to participate in a protest, all-vehicle protests can be a viable option!

Hold posters or flags outside of your window.
Temporarily spray paint your windshield.
Continue to exercise safety precautions and know your rights. There is still a risk of violence.

Teach and learn signals that indicate police or ICE agent presence.

This point is closely connected to sharing skills and resources, but would be used in a politically-charged or potentially unsafe environment. Here are a few resources and suggestions:

Use knowledge of sign language to communicate among fellow protestors.
Pass out know your rights cards!
ASL Dictionary (app): Useful for basic signs and fingerspelling for American Sign Language
ICE Signals:
ICE sighting: 3 short bursts (tweet-tweet-tweet)
ICE abduction: 3 long bursts (tweeeeeet-tweeeeeet-tweeeeeet)
Repeat until a crowd forms, and keep a safe distance.

Advocate for disability access at social justice events.

Not all social justice events are designed with accessibility in mind. Venues with stairs, protests on hills, or large gatherings without masks exclude Disabled folks from participating in their own liberation.

Speak with organizers on accessible locations, including rest spots & accessible bathrooms.
Speak up for yourself and mobility aid-users who are disrespected or discarded in crowds.
Hand out masks, whistles, and water bottles. Put resources in local library boxes.

Sources:

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Remi Stamatellos (they/them/elle) is a chronically ill, Nonbinary Femme Lesbian and one of The Snapdragon’s founders. They graduated from the University of West Georgia with a B.A. in English and certificate in Publishing and Editing.

Remi primarily works as the editor-in-chief, copywriter, web designer, and events planner for The Snapdragon. Their goal is to give fellow LGBTQ+ and Disabled people the opportunity to share their mutual experiences without the risk of feeling ostracized. Beyond their magazine duties, they love to bake, sing, and fawn over their cats.

Real Boy

Tue, 07 Oct 2025 21:09:13 GMT

REAL BOY

WRITTEN & CREATED BY AGOSTO CANTANTE

I need to move.

It’s 8am. I should get up

I’m so lazy.

I’m so tired.

I need to get up.

It’s 10 am.

I should take my meds.

I should get up- It’s nearly 9.

Am I awake?

The pawn walks in his straight line, one square at a time.

It’s 11am. I wonder what everyone else is doing. I shouldn’t be living like this.

Breathe.

Come on.

GET UP.

Do you know how lucky you are?

To have a family like this?

A family that accepts your transness and coddles you. To get to live like this?

In times like these.

When isn’t it “times like these”?

I need to get up.

I have to eat something before 1pm.

If I were real I couldn’t live like this.

Get up.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Agosto Cantante (he/him) is a neurodivergent Transgender man from Mexico City. He wanted to submit something he wrote and drew about his depression, autism, and internalized transphobia.

Self Portrait as 50 Counts of Pressure

Fri, 12 Sep 2025 19:02:33 GMT

SELF-PORTRAIT AS 50 COUNTS OF PRESSURE

WRITTEN BY STEVEN C. WRIGHT - EDITED BY REMI STAMATELLOS

my preemie lungs fighting oxygen // the anesthetic against mom's consciousness, after they said I wasn't breathing // my tiny grasp on every little thing // my body pressing into mom during every doctor’s visit // mom squeezing her eyes shut for every needle in my arm // realizing how much dad is working // serotonin eking out though coils // loneliness as a coiled snake // panic attacks leaking out of my nose // the tumor against my brain // nearsightedness; squinting // platonic love, spoon fed through gritted teeth // trying hard; very sorry // puberty; the closet // learning how to be smaller // learning how to drive // my hands on the steering wheel, clinging for dear life // turning left into traffic, almost killing the examiner // his fingers on the emergency brake // my fingers ripping tufts of hair // learning how to hurt myself // obsessive-compulsive disorder, eager to wring out my life // my fear of it, my fear of that // divorce on the big screen // mom and dad as shattering glass doors // the closet door, swinging open // romantic love as sandpaper // his fingers, pushing into me, like thumbs into eyes // sex, and hating it // hating my body // peeling an unripe avocado after starving myself all day // my feet against the scale, ten times a morning // the fear of numbers // the fear of time // the fear of death // the fear of dying in a moving car // my aching shoulder and the passenger grab handle // hypertension // mom and dad as ticking clocks // missing dad, but never calling // obsessive-compulsive disorder, eager to wring out my life // the fear of it, the fear of that // each intrusive thought that wraps its fingers around my neck // my biting tongue against my love for life// my second guess against my every instinct // my regret against my nostalgia // my nostalgia against my future // my future against my worry // my worry against my stomach lining // my screaming gut; my two sore throats

Content Warnings: Mentions of OCD, Self-Harm, and Eating Disorders

Steven C. Wright (he/him) is a queer poet and prose author from Edison, New Jersey. He has a B.A. in English from Rutgers University-New Brunswick, and runs a small poetry workshop group every week. His work has appeared in Frontier Poetry, Serotonin Press, BRAWL, and elsewhere.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Growing up with Cleft Lip & Palate

Fri, 12 Sep 2025 18:56:16 GMT

GROWING UP WITH CLEFT LIP & PALATE

WRITTEN AND EDITED BY REMI STAMATELLOS

Disclaimer : this is not meant to describe the experiences of all individuals with cleft lip & palate. Instead, it describes my personal experiences via stream-of-consciousness narrative. Content alludes to internalized ableism.

Being a twenty-two year old with cleft lip & palate continues to be a strange experience. For those who do not know, cleft lip and palate occurs when the structures that form the upper lip and palate do not join together when a fetus is developing in the womb. This results in a hole in the soft palate and gaps in the upper lip. I have a bilateral cleft lip, meaning that the lip splits in two places rather than one.

My childhood involved a lot of straw biting, metal wire adjusting, and dissolvable stitches. Surgeries, speech therapy, etc. It was an "every six weeks" trip to Atlanta for an adjustment to an ever-changing face that, honestly, was not recognizable to me.

It's a bit difficult to bring up things like this when talking about my childhood. Most people feel pity, not just for me, but for my mother who had to deal with three cleft lip & palate carbon copies of herself. It may just be difficult to respond in a way that isn't apologetic. I get it. It can be awkward hearing things like this, and I do understand the feelings of discomfort. I am genuinely not looking for sympathy, though. Instead, all I am asking is to be understood.

That being said, it has its shit moments. It may be a primary reason for most of my physical woes. Perhaps my body could not tolerate the stress of multiple surgeries per year, or maybe the genetic code of cleft palate wrote other disabilities into my convoluted DNA manuscript. It shares genes with autism, autonomic dysfunction, and an extensive list of disorders that I have and would likely shock no one. I have long suspected it's the culprit of my sleep apnea.

Having cleft lip doesn't particularly bother me as much as it used to, though. It feels more like a cartoon fist raise, a "god damnit, not you again, you nasty son of a bitch," than a "my self esteem solely depends on how my face is currently structured" kind of thing.

No one had told me that having cleft lip & palate was not the societal standard.

I was in Kindergarten when I discovered that not everyone was a little soldier who frequented the orthodontist's office.

After all, four out of six members of my immediate family had cleft lip & palate. This didn't include both of my maternal grandparents who also had cleft lip & palate. Genetics were not kind to my mother, who was the only one of her five siblings born with cleft palate.

Thankfully, insurance was gracious with us, drooling at the spectacle of two-thirds of a family having a visible genetic disorder. We even got a special mid-2000s-style pamphlet created about our family, detailing our family's case like it was straight from the Guinness Book of World Records.

I would almost describe my discovery of "non-clefters" as a culture shock in some way. Most people are profoundly aware of their own difference, but to me, cleft lip and palate was engraved into my little youngster brain as the only way one could be. The rule, not the exception. Walking onto the bus, finding that I was, indeed, the odd one out, was a humbling experience to say the least.

Although, I was not unarmed against the blunt remarks of curious six to twelve-year-olds. The "what happened to your nose" question was particularly common. I brainstormed with my cousins how to ward off the harbingers of cruel and unusual questions such as this. We settled on the story that I was mauled by a tiger who had very precise scratching techniques.

It was a certain defense that did not completely quiet the confusion and insecurity I felt for myself, who was missing teeth and couldn't quite drink water without it spilling from my nose. I had to be strong anyway. To think of the repair surgeries as holiday routine. If not for my burnt out parents, who I had burdened, then at least for myself.

Now, compared to my childhood, most people do not even notice the small scars inching from my nose to my lips, or the effort I put into articulating each and every word. I am "normal-passing" as one could be, sans the cane and acne. And that is what I wanted as a kid, a sense that what I was experiencing was normal. Or at the very least okay.

But for some reason I find it a bit disquieting, feeling the acknowledgement of my struggle slipping away.

For the unaware, craniofacial issues like cleft lip & palate tend to become system-wide problems. This means I would often get ear infections, sinus infections, and later on, hearing loss. Honestly, it wasn't until late teenage-hood that I realized not everyone celebrated their surgically-inserted ear tubes falling out.

It's a bit comforting in its own way, having things to celebrate that others may not even think about. I looked forward to the pre-surgery mega meal and the post-surgery Mad Libs. I preferred nesting in the recliner to sharing a room with my younger brother, and I enjoyed endlessly rewatching Mulan (1998) and The Princess Bride on the Big TV. No one could tell me I couldn't, because, you see, I just had surgery. And there's a certain joy in that. Joy in figuring out how to eat popcorn without breaking my braces, eating hard candy, and describing to others, in great detail, the dystopian-levels of body horror I experienced. I thought it was funny at least.

There's a part of me that tries to take pride in having cleft palate, the same pride I have shouting my lesbianism into the un-listening atmosphere. There's another part that refuses to let myself struggle with the uglier sides of it, like how I'm riddled with disassociation when I look in the mirror. But I sometimes want to paint my scars.

Perhaps there was no sense in being strong then, and perhaps that strength is the reason I am still here.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Queer, Plus-Size Cosplay: An Interview with WesTheDragon

Fri, 12 Sep 2025 01:33:00 GMT

INTERVIEW WITH WESTHEDRAGON

July 26, 2025

Remi Stamatellos: Thank you so much for taking the time to chat with me. Before we begin, I wanted to go over some of the basics. Could you tell me your name, pronouns, and a little bit about who you are and what you do?

Wes The Dragon: My name is Wes. I’m known as WesTheDragon across the internet and literally every social media ever. My pronouns are they/them. I’m a plus-size cosplayer and I advocate for body positivity in the cosplay community, share tips from wigs to guesting, create content for conventions, and do wig commissions!

RS : So, I wanted to dive in and discuss a little bit about how your cosplay relates to your nonbinary, plus-sized, and neurodivergent identities. How has cosplay aided in expressing your multiple intersectional identities? Would you say that cosplay was a factor in your self-discovery?

WTD: I would say that cosplay is a big part of my self discovery because cosplay has helped me come out of my shell. In high school, I didn’t talk to anyone and stuck to myself. I never found myself putting thought into my outfits. I didn’t like my body, and I struggled with self-esteem.

Cosplay really gave me the confidence to be myself. I think it’s a little weird that “dressing up as a different person” helped me find MY confidence but it absolutely did. I’m able to talk in front of crowds now and host classes/panels to instruct and educate others all because of cosplay.

RS : It’s always a good thing to have a creative outlet, and I’ve always greatly admired cosplayers for all the effort they put into tiny details. Do you feel as if you’ve been able to connect with others within the cosplay community?

WTD : Oh absolutely! I’ve met some of my best friends through cosplaying. I love this community. I’ve even become the person people come to about wig advice, or just them saying “hey, I love your cosplays. You’ve inspired me to start cosplaying and gave me the confidence to love myself.” And every time I get those messages I cry knowing that I can make a difference and someone doesn’t have to feel how I used to is just incredible. I’m crying just a bit writing this right now, just thinking about it.

RS : I love that. I would definitely describe myself as a beginner-level cosplayer, so if I ever go to a con, I know who to talk to about making my wigs more Normal lol.

WTD : Yes absolutely! I love helping people with stuff! Wigs have always been one of my favorite elements to cosplay!

RS : I’m so relieved. I tried to cosplay Dazai from Bungo Stray Dogs last year and the wig was an absolute mess. What barriers do you think the cosplay community imposes, purposefully or unintentionally, on queer, disabled, and/or plus-sized folks?

WTD : I gotta find an old video of my first wig I tried to actually style. It was my first wig ever; I had just parted it so I could see, but the first wig I ever tried to style looked so rough. It was Koga from Inuyasha.

I do think there are a few barriers regarding all of these, especially POC cosplayers, and I have made a few posts about them. I’m gonna give each of them their own paragraph.

For plus-sized cosplayers, the main issue finding pre-made cosplays in our size and being told “that character isn’t fat.” I’ve actually been told that I’m glorifying obesity/an unhealthy lifestyle simply by existing.

For disabled cosplayers, the barrier is also with finding cosplays that work with mobility aids (wheelchairs, canes, crutches). Venues and transportation are not usually accessible for these aid uses.

For me, it can be really loud, and really big cons can take a lot more out of me because of all of the noise, people being close together, and all the starting and stopping to navigate the crowd. I only do a few big cons a year since they absolutely take so much out of me, and sometimes I’ve lost friends because they don’t understand why it takes so much out of me, why we can’t hang out during the con, or why plans change. Honestly that part really sucks.

For LGBT+ cosplayers, one thing I’ve had issues with is that it can be hard to cosplay characters or find your femininity/masculinity again in cosplay if you’re trans, nonbinary, or another gender identity.

For POC cosplayers, the obstacles are usually the constant harassment of being told that “this character isn’t a POC,” and that they can only cosplay POC characters.

"I’ve personally been told numerous times that me being plus-sized is “ruining the character” and "promoting unhealthiness'" when I’m just living my life and being proud, happy, and loving myself."

WTD : Minority cosplayers in general are discriminated against because we don’t fit in the conventional beauty standards of not only the character, but also cosplay in general, We are all beautiful and talented in our own ways and shouldn’t be left out of photos, events, and conversations because we don’t fit the mold.

RS : I definitely agree with all of the above. Do you have any advice on dealing with potential dysphoria in cosplay?

WTD : Honestly, my biggest advice is if you’re not comfortable, you won’t be confident. My Zhongli cosplay has two outfits; one is a suit and the other his Archon outfit. My first cosplay in 2016 was a suit and I was so uncomfortable and didn’t like how I looked in it. So when I was choosing a Zhongli cosplay in 2022, I chose the Archon cosplay that was more like a jacket and baggy pants– stuff that I was already comfortable wearing– and then I slowly branched out to wearing clothes/cosplays out of my comfort zone.

"If you're not comfortable, you won't be confident."

RS : That’s some solid advice. I’d love to know if you have any cosplay-related resources you would recommend to other members of your communities, though I’m sure you have plenty of stuff on your social media already.

WTD : Very true. I have a lot of great stuff on my Instagram, Facebook, TikTok, and YouTube. I’m also a resource myself, so anyone can reach out to me on social media or by email. Facebook groups are great places to find your community and make friends! I’m in a few plus-size cosplayer groups for support and selling cosplays and everyone is so nice!

RS : I’m a huge fan of Discord support groups myself! What’s your favorite cosplay that you’ve done to date?

WTD : My favorite cosplay is always such a hard question, but I think it is my Sombra from Overwatch cosplay. The cosplay is her LESSERAFIM collab skin, and I thrifted every piece of it. Let me walk you through how I made it:

WTD : The hat was thrifted and painted, the jacket was made from old pants that my uncle was going to throw out, so I patterned, painted, and sewed the jacket.

I already had the black tank top, but the blue shirt is actually part of the pants I thrifted and used to make the split pants. It’s split with a pair of black (also thrifted) pants, and all the details were hand-painted on.

Finally, the shoes are where I used the last bit of the blue jean fabric to cover the black boots I thrifted, and all of the details were also painted on. I think I made the whole thing for around $50 USD, including the wig that’s a helmet wig. I did the bangs with wire and tape and painted the tips of the bangs myself!

It was a lot of work, but I’m so proud of it and I’ll definitely be sharing pictures with you of her! Also, when I posted her on Twitter/X, her voice actor reposted it and I cried.

For more information and rad cosplay tips, check out Wes' social media accounts on their Linktree !

Make Queer Spaces More Disability-Friendly

Fri, 12 Sep 2025 01:32:58 GMT

MAKE QUEER SPACES MORE DISABILITY-FRIENDLY

WRITTEN BY REMI STAMATELLOS -

EDITED BY ADRIENNE AUCLAIR

When we think of Queer gatherings, we tend to discuss events like Pride parades or karaoke at your local underground gay bar. But what about people who don't want to go to these events? What about people who want to access these spaces, but can't enter, interact with, or enjoy them?

While there are many ways a space can be inaccessible, such as financially, racially, or linguistically, this article will explore Disability-centric inaccessibility and practical ways to amend it.

In the broadest of terms, accessibility refers the quality of being easy to approach, reach, enter, speak with, use, or understand. Disabled people are often excluded from LGBTQ+ and Queer spaces due to a lack of or poor accessibility. Because Disabled individuals make up over 40% of the LGBTQ+ community, it is not only important, but necessary to create approachable and accessible spaces for any party to enjoy. Below is a non-exhaustive list of accessibility obstacles and how to overcome them with more inclusive practices:

What is accessibility?

Most people are aware of common physical accessibility barriers. However, the issue of physical inaccessibility still persists. Here are a few barriers Disabled individuals might face along with several potential solutions to these issues:

Physical inaccessibility

Narrow or heavy doorways may make it so a wheelchair-user can't fit through the door, or a person with chronic pain struggles to open it.

Automatic door buttons that are too high to reach or no longer work present similar concerns. A Little Person or wheelchair, cane, or crutches-user will have barriers to entry.

Excessive stairs or hills may exhaust a person with chronic fatigue, exacerbate chronic pain, or completely prohibit mobility aid-users from accessing a space.

Textured grounds such as bricks or active construction sites will also limit accessibility.

Immunocompromised people may avoid attending events because of crowds and poor infection control.

Heat or cold-intolerant people may struggle attending outdoor events in areas with extreme temperatures.

Choose a venue with wide doorways that can open automatically. If this is not an option, place doorstops to make entry more seamless. Make sure there are several gender-inclusive restrooms with large stalls and grab rails.

Choose a relatively flat location clear of construction. Portable ramps are also an option for venues that do not have built-in ramps.

Include plenty of seating and places to rest in queues or near attractions. If possible, provide mobility aids (like canes or wheelchairs) that are available to borrow.

Require and offer masks to attendees. Include hand sanitizer at tabling events. If this is not a viable option, host hybrid and online events for individuals to attend from their home.

Offer fans, water, gloves, or hot chocolate depending on the weather. If this is not possible, make sure there is access to a cool or well-insulated area nearby.

Barriers:

Actions:

A sensory disability is a neurological disorder that affects the human brain’s ability to process sensory information, including hearing, vision, taste, smell, or touch. Sensory accessibility concerns a wide array of individuals, including but not limited to blind, D(d)eaf, and neurodivergent people.

Sensory inaccessibility

A lack of clear signage will make venues difficult to navigate for blind individuals or wheelchair-users.

Loud music and bright or flashing lights may contribute to sensory overload or cause seizures in photosensitve individuals or people with epilepsy.

Blind people or individuals with low vision may not be able to participate in events that rely heavily on eyesight, such as movie screenings or theater performances.

D(d)eaf or hard of hearing individuals may not be able to engage in live concerts, open-mics, or Pride events because of heavy background noise, speaker feedback, or inability to understand what a speaker or singer is saying.

Post multiple signs in large print to help avoid confusion or difficult navigation. These can be printed or homemade for cost-effectiveness.

Designate a sensory-friendly space for neurodivergent individuals. If this is not possible, provide earplugs or sunglasses to prevent overstimulation. A quiet space will also be helpful for those with social anxiety or service animals who need routine breaks.

Try to avoid using flashing lights. Should the event involve them, provide the audience with multiple flash warnings for their safety. Make sure the lighting has low glare to help blind or photosensitive individuals navigate their environment with minimal difficulty.

Provide audio description technology for blind individuals to help fill in visual information.

Use T-loop technology to transmit sound directly from a microphone or speaker to cochlear implants or hearing aids. Provide captions for visual media.

Hire American Sign Language (ASL) interpreters for concerts, conventions, or open-mics. If the event does not rely on music or presenters, keep background noise at a low volume for D(d)eaf and neurodivergent individuals.

Barriers:

Actions:

Some events are not accessible to those who have intellectual disabilities, mental health conditions, or to those who do not speak English.

Intellectual inaccessibility

Marketing materials, advertisements, or event announcements may include jargon, complex or unclear phrasing, or excessive text.

Written signs may be unclear or confusing to people with intellectual disabilities such as dyslexia.

The use of idioms (break a leg, bite the bullet) in public events may cause stress or confusion to individuals who take statements literally or to those who do not speak English.

Those with mental health conditions such as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) or obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) may be triggered by unexpected heavy or disturbing topics.

Any Disabled individual may not know if your venue is accessible in the way they need.

Use plain, short, and easy-to-understand language in marketing materials and event announcements.

Incorporate visual aids in signage that can be understood cross-culturally.

Avoid using excessive idioms and slang.

Provide explicit content warnings for any triggering subjects.

Post specific accessibility details in your event announcements, such as sensory-safe rooms, stairs, wheelchair access, etc.

Learn Queer Disability

Dry Eye Disease as DABDA

Dry Eye Disease as DABDA

WRITTEN BY STEVEN C. WRIGHT, EDITED BY ADRIENNE AUCLAIR

-ABOUT THE AUTHOR-

Binder

BINDER

WRITTEN BY BOOKER G. A. FENIKS - EDITED BY REMI STAMATELLOS

The Tired Revolution: Practicing Queer Crip Resistance

THE TIRED REVOLUTION: PRACTICING QUEER CRIP RESISTANCE

WRITTEN AND EDITED BY REMI STAMATELLOS

Real Boy

﻿ REAL BOY

WRITTEN & CREATED BY AGOSTO CANTANTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Self Portrait as 50 Counts of Pressure

SELF-PORTRAIT AS 50 COUNTS OF PRESSURE

WRITTEN BY STEVEN C. WRIGHT - EDITED BY REMI STAMATELLOS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Growing up with Cleft Lip & Palate

GROWING UP WITH CLEFT LIP & PALATE

WRITTEN AND EDITED BY REMI STAMATELLOS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Queer, Plus-Size Cosplay: An Interview with WesTheDragon

INTERVIEW WITH WESTHEDRAGON

July 26, 2025 ﻿

"If you're not comfortable, you won't be confident."

Make Queer Spaces More Disability-Friendly

MAKE QUEER SPACES MORE DISABILITY-FRIENDLY

WRITTEN BY REMI STAMATELLOS -

EDITED BY ADRIENNE AUCLAIR

What is accessibility?

Physical inaccessibility

Barriers:

Actions:

Sensory inaccessibility

Barriers:

Actions:

Intellectual inaccessibility

Barriers:

Actions:

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

REAL BOY

July 26, 2025