Lauren (they/them) is a summer 2025 QZAP intern. They are an undergraduate student at Emory University studying creative writing and gender studies. They are Haitian-American, queer, and from rural Maryland. In their free time, Lauren writes various things, reads, does crossword puzzles, and cooks.
Bar Dykes
Trigger warning: police, mentions of domestic violence
Bar Dykes is a one-act play by Merril Mushroom written in the 1980s, made into a zine format by Faythe Levine and Caroline Paquita in 2016. The play itself is based on an article that Mushroom wrote called “How to Engage in Courting Rituals 1950s Butch Style in the Bar,” which is exactly what it sounds like (you can read the article here) The inside cover of the zine includes a list of all seven steps of courting [see below]. These courting rituals provide necessary context for how the characters interact with each other.
The zine starts with a note from Faythe and Caroline, discussing how the zine version of Bar Dykes came to be. When Merril lost her home and archives in a fire, community members helped rebuild her collection by sending copies of her work, including Bar Dykes. Faythe first suggested the idea of turning the play into a zine over a lunch discussion about dyke bars. Part of the note is excerpted below:
With this publication, we hope to preserve not only the cultural legacy of Merril’s work but to share her herstory with a larger audience. Contemporary conversations surrounding queerness and gender nonconformity have made massive strides towards breaking down ignorance, intolerance, and hate. These advancements have been wrought with persecution, police brutality, and death. By publishing Bar Dykes and the accompanying interview, we not only celebrate the life and work of Merril Mushroom but also honor those who have fought to live freely, love whom they want, and make the world a safer, more accepting, and interesting place. We recognize there is still a long way to go–Bar Dykes offers new perspectives on our past, acting as a catalyst for progression into the future.
I, personally, agree. Not only is this such an eloquent way of putting it, but I’ve learned a lot from this zine. I read it for the first time in one sitting, and I knew I had to write about it. And I’ve thought about it for weeks afterwards, and have told all my friends to read it, too. Butch and Femme history hasn’t been discussed in any queer space I’ve been part of, and that includes my gender studies classes. When Butch/Femme is talked in online, mainstream queer circles, people are incorrectly assuming that it’s heteronormative. It’s annoying. I want more people to see the rich history of Butch/Femme culture.
How to Engage in Courting Rituals 1950’s Butch Style in the Bar:
Ritual #1: Cruising
Ritual#2: The Buying of the Drink
Ritual #3: The Playing of the Jukebox
Ritual #4: The Approach
Ritual #5: The Lighting of the Cigarette
Ritual #6: The Asking to Dance
Ritual #7: The Dancing
Bar Dykes describes a night at an unnamed bar in an undisclosed U.S. city in the 1950s. With the exception of the three characters who are new to the city (Sherry, Elaine, and Trick) and the mysterious newcomer (Lorraine), everyone knows each other in some way. And the bartender, Bo, knows them too. Mixed in with 1950s slang and complexities of romance and lesbian social dynamics are pockets of humor and critiques of state violence. I think it’s such a cool concept, to walk into a bar/restaurant/place that isn’t home or work and have the regulars there know you. To be a regular yourself. It’s not something I’ve had a chance to experience, especially with other lesbians.
The play starts with some small talk between Bo, the bartender, and Rusty, a regular at this bar. Bo is the character in this play that talks sense. She’s got the lowdown. She’s very cool and wise. The latter asks about Jo Ellen, who seems to be a regular, but makes no appearances on the page. According to Bo, Jo Ellen is a gay girl who was broken up with by another off-page character and decided to go back to exclusively dating men. Rusty and Bo both make their own comments. Part of it is social commentary, and part of it is them goofing around (I loved it though):
Rusty: [shaking her head] It’ll never work. Jo Ellen’s gay. And once a woman’s been with a woman, she’ll never be satisfied with a man.
Bo: I’m hip. I wish her all the luck in the world getting out of “the life”, but she’ll never be satisfied without a woman now.
Rusty: I’m hip. But some have to learn the hard way — if you’re queer, you’ll never be straight.
Bo: [striking an orator’s pose] Playing the game don’t make you a member of the team.
Rusty: [striking the same pose] Sitting on eggs don’t make you a chicken.
This story is very familiar to me. There’s a silent expectation from some of my straight friends and family members to either be straight, or to return to straightness after coming out as queer. Letting myself love women has been extremely freeing–especially when I don’t desire romance or sex with men. While this particular quote doesn’t take into account the existence of bisexuality, it makes an important point that straightness and being closeted can be painful and disappointing once someone has experienced being queer. It still happens today, but I would guess that it was more common in the 195os, when this is set.
Another important point is how Bo refers to queerness and being out as a gay person as “The Life.” This phrasing nods toward the sacrifices someone has to make to live as an out queer person in this era, as well as the sense of community and solidarity that comes with it. As I read the list of characters and looked at their experiences throughout this play, I noticed how different they all are. Every character doesn’t belong the same racial group, isn’t the same body size, and doesn’t present their gender in the same way. They’re brought together by their need for community, and held together in solidarity while navigating a hetero-patriarchal society. Even when characters make small talk, it is underscored by familiarity and intimacy. Cynthia and Rusty both make a point of asking Bo about Carol (an off-page character with some kind of relationship to Bo) within moments of entering the bar. And even with the quote above, Rusty and Bo striking identical poses and joking was endearing, radiant, and revolutionary. I really love to see it!
Similar to how Bo uses the phrase “The Life”, “Found Out” is a written as a proper noun, even though it’s a pretty common combination of words. It’s used when Joyce first comes into the bar, distraught and looking to get drunk. It’s later revealed that Joyce is upset because her mother “Found Out” she was gay. Linda, who’s also in the bar, asks “Was it bad?” and Cynthia replies “It’s always bad.” And it makes sense. Like I mentioned earlier, openly refusing straightness can be dangerous–you risk losing everything. I’ve lost friends almost every time I’ve come out, whether as not straight, or not cisgender.
Bette and Andy, a femme-presenting couple, come into the bar dressed alike. Halfway through the play, Andy makes a comment about Cynthia, who is dancing with Elaine, being promiscuous. Bette then suggests that Andy is jealous of Elaine, and wants to be the one dancing with Cynthia, who she was once romantically involved with. And from Andy’s reaction, it’s clear that Bette struck a nerve–and a very accurate one at that.
Bette: [grabs her by the arm] You whore! You do! [shouts] You wish you were still with Cynthia and not with me, don’t you? [everyone else in the bar stops and looks at Bette, then back to what they were doing. Cynthia shakes her head and rolls her eyes, then engages Elaine in “serious conversation” to distract her from what seems to be a fight over Cynthia.]
Andy: [pulls away from Bette] You keep your fucking hands off me…
Bette: [grabs her again] I’ll do whatever the fuck I please with you. You’re my girl [shakes her.]
Andy: [swings back and smacks Bette, shrieks] I said keep your fucking hands off me!
In this scene, Bette is verbally and physically abusive towards Andy, grabbing her arm and calling her a whore. The fact that Bette treats Andy like property in this moment is concerning and jarring. Nobody intervenes in Bette and Andy’s argument, but everybody looks their way. But this scenario is very concerning, and somebody should’ve intervened and protected Andy. There’s the pervasive idea that a couple fighting in public (even when one is very clearly being verbally, emotionally, or physically abusive) is “their business,” and no one else’s. for example, Bo says to them when things get more intense/physical: “if you wanna fight, go on home and do it.” Furthermore, Bo seems to be equating the way Bette acted towards her partner with the fact that Andy felt the need to smack her partner away in self defense. It seems like everyone is allowing it because Bette is a woman. If a man was acting this way, everyone would have immediately clocked it as domestic violence. During this scene, I kept thinking, what kind of community is this? Why is nobody concerned?
Cynthia is the only character in this play described as “ki-ki,” which refers to someone who is neither butch nor femme, or moves between both. In response to Cynthia’s question about whether anyone has tried “flipping” Rusty (meaning she would become femme), Bo makes a comment about Rusty being a “real stone butch,” in comparison to what she calls “wishy-washy ki-ki girls.” This comment is very clearly directed toward Cynthia, and even though Bo attempts to indicate that she’s joking with a playful punch on Cynthia’s arm, Cynthia is bothered by it.
But there’s some truth in jest, as illustrated by how the scene plays out:
Cynthia: [defensively] Listen, sometimes I like to be the butch, and sometimes I like to be the femme. Depends on who I’m interested in. Wishy-washy has nothing to do with it.
Bo: [seriously] Well, a girl has to be one or the other; other-wise, how would she know who she could go with?
Cynthia: [offended] I’m hip that some of you tough butches don’t have a very high opinion of us ki-ki girls, but I think we have it best of all, because we can go with whoever we want to. I mean, look at poor Irish and Kathy — they both really dig the hell out of each other; but they won’t get it on because they’re both too butch, and neither one wants to catch shit for going femme. But anyone can tell that they’re really crazy about each other.
The way Bo speaks about the categories of butch and femme and their roles in the lesbian community leaves minimal room for those who don’t fit cleanly into one category, as well as butch4butch and femme4femme relationships. The existence of categories should be accompanied by space to exist outside, between, and around them. Cynthia’s example about Irish and Kathy applies to the earlier conversation about what would happen to Rusty if Lorraine turned out to be butch as well. Rusty wouldn’t have to become femme, and neither would Lorraine. They could be butch, and date each other. This part of the play stuck out to me because I see myself in Cynthia more than anyone else.
Around the same time I read Bar Dykes, I read a few issues of Brat Attack. There was this article in Brat Attack #5 called “Butch: An Evolving Identity,” written by Lori Hartmann. Like my past self, Hartmann had internalized a ton of incorrect, butchphobic, and femmephobic ideas about butch and femme identities, and they confessed to associating butch with “looking or acting like a male, and that it was shameful and bad.” It reminds me of how so many lesbians (including myself) have thought that their attraction to women was gross or predatory. That gender-nonconformity meant being more like a predatory, misogynistic man (it doesn’t). People assume so often that butch/femme is trying to mimic heterosexuality, and it sucks to see that rhetoric resurfacing in the queer community.
Hartmann ends this essay with a list of questions that they asked themself while unpacking beliefs and biases about both butches and femmes. I bring this up because I felt that almost all the characters in the play would benefit from asking themselves these questions, as most lesbians would.
How do you identify–butch, femme, butch queen, glamor femme, dandy, tomboy femme, femmy-butch, butchy-femme, sissyboy, princess, scruffy punk femme, androgyne, fagdyke, other?
Who are you attracted to? Is there a connection between who you’re attracted to and how you identify yourself? E.g., do you call yourself a femme because you are attracted to butches?
How do you define butch or femme or whatever term you choose to identify yourself?
What are some of the beliefs you have about butches/femmes? E.g., butches don’t have feelings, femmes are histrionic.
If you’re butch, do you resent femmes for their access to heterosexual privilege because they can be mistaken for straight women? If you’re femme, do you resent butches for their ability to pass for men or their being easily recognized as dykes?
Do you feel that FTMs are more butch than butch women? What value do you attach to “degree of butchness”? Is there such a thing?
In your personal experience, what is the relationship between maleness and butchness? (mas-culinity and butchulinity?) Between femaleness/ femininity and femmeness?
Write about your experiences of being neither or both genders. Describe any characters you might use during role play.
In the last pages of the play, the bar is raided by the police. It’s drawing close to the bar’s closing time, and several characters have left, either alone or with someone. There are seven characters still in the bar when the police arrive: Bo, Rusty, Lorraine, Linda, Sherry, Andy, and Trick. The police officers ask each person for ID, and everyone obliges. Then, several characters are arrested:
- Linda and Sherry – perversion
- Trick – Suspicion
- Rusty – impersonating
These charges are pretty bogus. The cops are manipulating legal language to fit their homophobic and transphobic biases. In the case of Linda and Sherry, the policeman cannot even name a reason to arrest them. Instead, he comes up with the following:
Policeman #1: Who cares? Perversion. I’ll thing of something. I saw what you goddam bulldykes were doing. Makes me sick. [he spits on the floor.] Now, let’s go, or I’ll charge you with resisting arrest.
It’s clear that the police officer is abusing his power, justifying it with bigotry. Trick and Rusty are masculine presenting, and this is clear to both police officers. Once again, they make up reasons to arrest them. It mimics the way black men are stopped on the street or in their cars for “fitting the description” or for a “routine traffic stop.”
Andy is one of the more femme-presenting people in this bar. Instead of facing discrimination for being gender nonconforming, she faces a strange combination of sexual harassment and assumed victimhood at the hands of the lesbians at this bar:
Policeman #2: …[He looks at Andy] Hm, I’ve seen you around, too. Don’t you know you can get into trouble hanging around with these bulldaggers?
Andy: Fuck off, you bastard.
Policeman #2: [laughs] You’re a real sweetheart, aintcha? [His eyes narrow] You can just come along with me too. I’ll give you something to take the sass out of you when we get to the station.
In this situation, Andy is viewed as an object that can be “fixed” by a man. This is heavily implied in the last line of the above dialogue. Also, the police officer’s words rely on the belief that masculine lesbians will “corrupt” feminine straight women. Not only is this not close to what’s happening, but it also reinforces stereotypes of what a lesbian is supposed to look like.
Lorraine, however, does not interact with the police once. She is, in a way, invisible during this scene–an observer. Bo also has limited interaction, but because she’s the bartender, she takes the responsibility of trying to get the girls out of police custody. In the last lines, she is described making a phone call explaining to another person (named Eddie) what went down. Then, she returns to what she was doing when the play started: polishing glasses, with Lorraine at a table in the corner. The final descriptions don’t show any interaction between them, as the early exposition did; Lorraine was described as “watching her [Bo] hungrily,” putting new meaning to the note in Bo’s character description where she is called “the type every young bar dyke falls in love with.” Lorraine is the young bar dyke in question (which I totally didn’t realize until I reread the play for the third time)
The police’s and behavior points the audience back to the roots of queer liberation movements, which fought against police control and violence enacted on queer, especially gender non-conforming, people. And it’s a sour note to leave the play off on, but maybe Merril Mushroom wanted it to be that way.
Lauren (they/them) is a summer 2025 QZAP intern. They are an undergraduate student at Emory University studying creative writing and gender studies. They are Haitian-American, queer, and from rural Maryland. In their free time, Lauren writes various things, reads, does crossword puzzles, and cooks.
Butcher Queers #4: The People Issue
Will St. Leger dubbed Butcher Queers #4, released in Winter 2010 and based in Dublin, “The People Issue.” From my first read-through, I could see this theme come through in the candidness of the photos and the clear writing from the contributors that encourage the reader of this zine to think beyond the status quo, and what is upheld ‘normal.’ And, as St Leger declared in the editor’s note, there are no advertisements for “clubs, bars, events and products.”
The zine itself is visually striking. Most images are printed in black and white, and the red of the text is the only element that breaks that.
Even images that don’t fit this pattern pull the viewer in, either in the way it’s edited, the way color is used as an overlay or as a balance to the black and white.
In “Get A Room…”, David Babby points out how public displays of affection between two gay lovers is seen as radical, and examines several reasons why. He states: “PDA’s are blatant reminders of said ‘wrong’ sex, therefore gay sex is fetishized and shoved to the margins.” Using this logic, it becomes clear why homophobes become so hostile towards gay couples expressing love for each other in public spaces. Babby adds another layer of consideration by suggesting a coexistence between curiosity and disgust in the mind of a passive homophobe:
Those who believe that being gay is immoral, ie. the religious, tend to have an unhealthy, if not rather understandable obsession with the exciting sex life of the homosexual. It wouldn’t matter whether or not they were walloped between the eyes with a Parisian erection or subjected to the sight of two men locking lips — they would be equally affronted (and curious).
This observation from Babby is a sort of sibling-concept to spectacle erasure, which refers to how marginalized groups are fetishized and looked upon with a sort of invasive curiosity, while the true, lived experience of marginalized groups are erased.
Babby ends his piece by suggesting that we move towards viewing PDA as what it is (a public display of affection) rather than an act of civil disobedience. While this won’t happen any time soon, the possibility of that future has been articulated, and the reader has absorbed it. The final line of this essay goes: “Now form an orderly queue. Who’s going to get his head kicked in to make things easier for the rest of us?”
“Super Nature” is an interview with a drag king called Pan-Demonium (also known as Sadie) and their mate, Sean, who is a queer trans man. I loved reading Sean’s interview because he articulates what it means to be trans beyond the gender binary. Sean’s identity as a trans boy doesn’t place him into this ultra-masculine box. He describes himself as “a mixture as masculine and feminine and either side of me would never let the other down.” Sean also had poignant advice for trans people who are transitioning or thinking about transitioning, saying that “No-one knows you better than you.” There’s a deep sense of knowing within a lot of us, and it’s often tampered by the notion that someone else (doctors, psychiatrists, other trans people, etc.) has to ‘approve’ your transness, which does little to help the trans community.
My favorite part Sadie’s drag king alter-ego is its animalistic nature, which is something I have not seen before. While drag queens have become extremely popular in both the queer and straight worlds, drag kings have remained somewhat underground, thus limiting the public imagination of what a drag king can look like. Sadie describes the origin of the name Pan-Demonium:
He comes from ‘Pan’ (half man, half goat), the Greek God of shepherds and flocks, mountain wilds, hunting and rustic music, as well as the companion of nymphs. He’s famed for his sexual prowess and seduction of the Goddesses.
Sadie is not only creating a drag identity that extends beyond the gender binary, but also beyond the lines of human and animal. For Pan-Demonium, the ambiguity — from being mistaken as a guy to inhabiting an alter-ego that isn’t fully human or animal — is the point.
Emily Aoibheann’s essay “I performed and no one tried to take photographs” was relevant when this zine was first released, and it remains relevant as I write about it in 2025. Aoibheann examines the power of being able to perform for an audience of humans, rather than an audience of cellphones. She describes it as “different, more friendly, more communicative, safer.”
Aoibheann calls into question the idea that social media fosters deeper connection, because she feels more isolated from her audience when they seek to upload aspects of her performances online, calling a certain social networking site “seemingly necessary but highly questionable.” It’s also fascinating that she frames the constant presence of cameras and recording devices as a breach of consent. Toward the end of her essay, Aoibheann says that “voyeurism has been brought beyond the indulgence of watching, to that of an abuse of bodily integrity via technology.” Her claims are bold, providing readers of Butcher Queers with food for thought regarding the relationship between performers, social media, and the physical audience.
Aoibheann creates spectacular new meaning out of the story of Narcissus—and this is something that I can always appreciate, no matter what kind of media I’m looking at. She reframes Narcissus’s selfishness as self-recognition, and names it as “a necessary stage in our burgeoning ability to love others,” while contrasting it with the photographers who “seem only to think of themselves.”
Toward the end of her essay, Aoibheann says, “So obsessed are we with documentation that the impact of the live moment has largely become secondary to the retrospective life it accumulates online.” She made me realize why some art galleries and performance venues do not allow photographs to be taken.
Lauren (they/them) is a summer 2025 QZAP intern. They are an undergraduate student at Emory University studying creative writing and gender studies. They are Haitian-American, queer, and from rural Maryland. In their free time, Lauren writes various things, reads, does crossword puzzles, and cooks.
Leche Podrida Para Disfrutar
Mala Leche Vol. 1, curated and edited by Eduardo Aparicio and Herculito Tropical, published February 1992 is zine from Chicago dripping in excess of satire and authentic latine queer play. In this fully Spanish resvista antiestica, “antiaesthetic magazine,” unfolds a collection of writings that enraptured me in nostalgia and warmth of the kind of queer exchange that occurs in latine kinship. A mixture of confessionals, stories, cultural analysis, an avant-garde interview, lesbianfied reworked novels, and your monthly horoscope. I could walk you through the marvels of these slaps in the face that leave you grinning with a red mark on your face or I could simply translate for you. We have the opening statement:
“What does “BAD MILK” mean? MALA LECHE* is a discursive violence. It is that discourse reduced to a monologue that wants to be made heard. It’s what comes out of us because if it doesn’t, we explode. Our mission is to express our vision of actuality with a squirt of MALA LECHE. Signed: Eduardo Aparicio and Herculito Tropical.”
*Leche (milk) is a common slang for semen, cum, and various sexual secretions. So this leche? Has gone baddddd…
The first story is titled Mi primero experencia, “My first experience,” by Erudito Alavio Leta. Details snapshots of first queer experiences and moments from when they were a young boy and “multiplying experiences.” Small windows of his experiences as a young gay man, moments that seem that have stuck to him like glue. One as young as 8 years old: “I still remember the sensation leaving with slippery cheeks.” Sincere in tone, these stories amounted to the specific experience of working at a clothing store in the luxury women’s clothing section. A male client who he was familiar with came in one day to shop “for” his wife and asked to try on the dresses himself in front of Erudito.
El cogio un vestido, se fue al cuarto de pruebas y salía sin zapatos, con las patasas todas pelúas, caminando como si tuviera tacones bien altos, paseandose por delante de los espejos, mirándose por delante y por detrás, que ni Bette Davis le hacía la competencia.
“He grabbed a dress, and went to the dressing room and left without shoes, with totally hairy steps, walking as if with very high heels, strolling in front of the mirrors, looking at himself from the front and from behind, not even Bette Davis could compete.”
Ultimately we are left in a cliffhanger: ¿Qué influencia tuvo esto en mi? En la próxima les contaré. “What influence did this have on me? In the next one, I will tell you all.” We are left wondering if this exchange continued, if not then how does Erudito walk away after this?
The following story titled COMIENDO MIERDA DESDE TEMPRANO, “EATING SHIT SINCE EARLY” by Mochito Cienfuegos, also leaves us an accidental cliffhanger. The story is missing its final page, but we are left at the beginning of a raunchy detailing of a night out at “AN ULTIMATE LEATHER BAR.” Mochito addresses the shiteaters directly, that may be the reader: you, me, us; or someone else entirely. The aggressive warm, from the heat of the branding iron they have as teeth, welcome they give us in the dedication tells us all:
Estos versos escotológicos y comemierda se los dedico o los que en un momento u otro se me han cagado en la madre. Con sentimiento y sabor caguense en lo suyo.
“I dedicate to you all these scotological and shit-eating verses or to those that in one moment or the other have shat on their mother. With sentiment and taste, shit on yourselves.”
The teeth of this tone leaves you with (skid?)marks all over your body, slightly infectious too since it is definitely not sanitary, but you leave with a smile of laughter because you liked it.
The following section told me how truly this zine was made by Latines for Latines. Because if it was by and for anyone else it would make me question how the hell they got this niche information from! And what is that information? That circumcision is an unheard-of practice in Latinoamerica… which leads to this highly specific investigation on classifieds. ¿Quién es esa persona que te busca? “Who is that person that searches for you?” by Cheito Chupaman is an uncovering of advertisements and announcements that have been received by Mala Leche to distribute to the community classified style. This “report” starts with a “personal classified” that was sent to Mala Leche specifically about a white American in search of a “serious and affectionate Hispanic man.”
This leads to a question of these types of classifieds. Chupamán searches and finds examples of these types of classifieds in various magazines.
Se me ocurre preguntarme si los gays estadounidenses que leen es tas publicaciones consideran que estas tienen lectores latinos que encontraran esos anuncios. A continuación te informo dónde fue que encontre anuncios de hombres que buscan latinos y te doy algunos ejemplos, para que tengas una idea.
“It occured me to ask myself if American gays that read these publications consider that they have latino readers that finds these announcements. Following I inform you where did I find these announcements of men looking for latinos and give you examples, so you have an idea.”
To much of my amusement, the conclusion to this incessant search for latino men by american gays is that latino gays are not circumcised so: Muchos de estos hombres sienten una fascinación por hombres que no sufrieron esta operación al nacer. “Many of these men feel a fascination for men that did not suffer this operation at birth.”
Following this, we have a switch-up to an anti-academic visual culture essay analyzing the convergence and queer dialectic exchange between a billboard advertisement and graffiti surrounding it. Los languages de violencia, “The Languages of Violences” by una chica de Puerto Rico que ama a otra chica, “a girl from Puerto Rico that loves another girl” is an extremely intelligent and riveting queer theoretical essay using this image as a point of origin:
La imagen que tenemos a nuestra vista es, entonces, la de una tensión que supera las dinámicas internas del cartel. El cartel invita a la transgresión pero opera desde una impostura. Mientras el graffito es en efecto la expresión de una letra que circula por el espacio de lo ilegal y lo prohibido, el cartel delimita con severidad su inclusión dentro de la ley.
“Then, the image that we have in our view is one of tension that surpasses the dynamics inside the billboard. The billboard invites a transgression but operates from an imposture. While the graffiti is effectively the expression of a letter circulating through the space of illegality and the prohibited, the billboard severely delimits its inclusion inside the law.”
She details how the graffiti and the billboard are in conversation, the wall being a space of metaphor for this play. She materializes in full animacy the graffiti, the wall, and the billboard. The power to enlarge the gaze of the viewer to understand the dialectic exchanges occurring queers the gaze towards this conversation, passing beyond the legal bounds of marketing.
El cartel, impenitente, abraza al graffito como a un hermano, cual un Judas, insistiéndole participar en la orgia de violencia y poder en la que soñandamente se homologan. Sin un dejo de compasión, le urge imperativamente que desvista a ese cuerpo inerte, a ese cuerpo sin voluntad propia, a ese cuerpo cifra de su poder, a ese cuerpo que le permitira saborear uno y cada uno de esos falitos erectos que se avisoran en la cajetilla ya abierta. Le urge que desgarre esa resistencia aparente, que se imponga sobre ese metal que cede ante la imponente voluntad de un dedo. Esa cosa/caja femenina que es sólo un pretexto y nada mas. Que desvista a esa cosa femenina. A esa cosa femenina.
“The billboard, impenitent, embraces the graffiti like a brother, like a Judas, insisting participation in the orgy of violence and power in which they dream of homologating themselves. Without a hint of compassion, urges him imperatively to undress that inert body, that body without any will of its own, that body that is the cipher of his power, that body that will allow him to savor each and every one of those erect phalluses that can be glimpsed in the already opened pack. Urging to tear that apparent resistance, to impose on that metal that yields to the imposing will of a finger. That feminine thing/box that is only a pretext and nothing more. To undress that feminine thing. That feminine thing.”
There is a strong eroticism to the exchange of seduction past the limits of gender, in the transgression of objects past their subjection. The graffiti is part of the announcement navigating past the lines of dress and undress, simulating fragmented and unfragmented lines of legality and gender. Announcing the tempting act of undressing, a feminine act, a phallus object of the cigarette, not only announces loudly the transgression of gender but does so by animating an object, inherently a queering: to humanize the sentient subject that has become dehumanized. Through the scope of enlarging and transsizing the viewer’s gaze to observe past lines of legality to a dialectical method of transgression. This small but transizable essay by A Girl From Puerto Rico That Loves Another Girl* is poetic and nasty in its intelligence. An invigorating read and leaves you sullied in its chokehold of argument. This essay left me in a state of electricity, in it capacity to witness through a language of a caliber that is high-intellect but anti-academic, inspiring in its unwavering poeticism but grounded in quotidian queer language.
*Si me escuchas, chica de Puerto Rico que ama a otra chica: buscame. Al menos una amistad, te ruego.
Circulating back to parts of this zine that are under the category that amazed me in its particularity of inner community specifics. This blog post is not an analysis or criticism of the dynamics of immigrants by any means, nor do I mean to start a diaspora war Olympics, but it is a fresh air to be reading something made in the U.S. that feels like something that did not have the U.S. in mind as part of its audience even though it was made in Chicago. This is rare. We immigrants, and many of those who have been here for a long time and/or past generations, tend to subscribe to living under the gaze of whiteness and Americanness to be able to be understood. I am not immune to this: out of survival we learn to code switch, only pay attention, and make known and salient parts of our culture, voice, and way of being, that white people already know or are comfortable with. Not erase but we simply do not water the particularities of ourselves, the untranslatable parts. This zine is littered and glittered with specifics that I could never translate for you, and I would be lying if I said that doesn’t make me happy. To read something that reminds me of home, but in a queer way?! Ways of being that go past slang, ways of song that are innately part of the way we speak. Even simple and small things like the difference between American versus Estadounidense. In Latinoamerica, we do not call people from the U.S. “American” because “America” is also Latin-america. We use “estadounidense” because that is the name of this country, is it not? I have always found it incredibly ironic and telling on the centrism of this country that there is not even an English word to refer to “estadounidense,” only “American.” That is nothing here nor there but even Spanish writing in the U.S., I have seen this exactly translated! To “Americano” instead of “estadounidense”… small things like that tell me your audience is only within the borders of this country to be able to understand this. This zine is very evident, from the first couple of pages, that is not this. I know this was all done in the affect and mindset of us by us for us. The following section is the most evident and beautiful transgression of this though.
The first couple of pages of Tetas Postizas, “Artificial Tits” by Herculito Tropical, is an interview with Kitty, whom I assume is a transformista and/or drag queen. I say assume because the first couple of pages are missing, but somehow this accidental mishap adds to the boundless close culture practice of it all. I will not be translating the entirety of the interview because it is antithetical to the most wondrous thing about it: its untranslatability.
Kitty is from Ecuador but grew up in Puerto Rico and is detailing her life as a transformista in the U.S., starting off by saying she wants to give back to her community with competitions such as “Miss Gay Latina International”, “Miss Northside”, “Miss Hispanidad”, and “Miss Southside.” She is talking about her life, childhood, future, hopes, likes, dislikes, and even love life.
Antes eramos muchachos que nos quitabamos la peluca, los brazieres, y ese era el termino del espectaculo de todo transformista. Ahora tu sabes que no, que hay el silicon, hay la hormona, hay el cache, la bisturí, las jaladas de los pellejos, tu sabes…
“We were guys before that would take our wigs off, our bras, and there would end the spectacle of everything transformista [even this context: drag, but could mean trans]. Now you know that isn’t the case, there is silicone, there’s hormones, there’s the cache, the scalpel, the skin tuck, you know…”
The conversation is very comfortable and fluid, and innately Caribbean. She ends with a beautiful note that speaks to many queer Caribeños, including myself:
“Well I haven’t mentioned it, but in the future, maybe in 92’, this year I hope to open my own place. First, I believe in God; secondly, in my father Obatalá, and my mother Ochún. If they give it to me, what I want this year, I will open a transformista club for Latinos.”
In the Caribbean, God is… God but in conversation with the seven potencias, Kitty highlights two: Yoruba Orishas Obatalá of creation and Ochún of water and fertility. Being in the archive and reading the hopes and ideas of the future by people in these zines makes me feel like they are in conversation with me. I hold the heavy weight of representing the future for them as I stand in the present they speak of in futurity. I do not know if this came to fruition, if they granted the club to Kitty, but I hope so dearly.
Aside from the wonderful actual text and narrative of this interview, what is so enlightening is the interview questions themselves. If you haven’t noticed you can see that Herculito (Little Hercules but also a pun for “Her-little ass”) says questions such as “¿Blablablá, bablá?”, “¿Fuiqui fuiqui cucú?”, “¿Fifí fofó o fufú?” This could be read as a gag and a subversion of interview questions, simply making fun of interview styles and queering it all. Maybe they did use questions with formal and clear sentences and then switched them out to these fun alternative questions. However, I believe differently. Latinos, especially in the Caribbean speak often in sounds. I frankly don’t have many ways to explain it other than it is highly contextual and musical sounds that can be understood in colloquial conversation but are untranslatable. The equivalent of humming sounds that indicate “yes” or “no” but instead with full onomatopoeia sentences that are sung in conversation can mean full moods, opinions, directions, thoughts, emotions, etc. Orchestrated on actual sound, rhythm, and application, showcasing their meaning. Granted this is not often written out because it is an overwhelmingly orally dependent tradition, but this interview changes that. Queers a Latino tradition by making it even more opaque on the page. You could argue that this was still in replacement of actual questions, but I would like to live in the fantasy of this conversation being comprised of this oral echo of culture. What adds to it is that it does make sense. Reading it out loud, those are the correct sounds for the types of sound-questions that were asked according to their answers.
Additionally, the phonic echos of this tropicalia elevate Kitty and her presence. The best interviews are those of conversation and exchange of kinship, where there is a vulnerability braided through the interchange of human connection rather than interrogation. The side of the blade that cuts in this case can be that then the interviewer can overpower the interviewee, at the end of the day I want to know about Kitty. By queering the interview style with a queering of these cultural phonic echos into the zine, Kitty’s words are heightened and bright by simultaneously still maintaining the affective presence of Herculito with the sound of his voice. She does not blend into the background but reigns on the throne constructed by the wounds of home. Everyone is present and sensorially opaque past and through a multiplicity of dimensions. And just like that, taquití táka tá.
Lastly, we end in finales to magazines and newspapers that I deeply miss and should be brought back: horoscopes. In the camp and queer tradition of the beloved Walter Mercado, Doña Masas Los Guía y Los Revienta…, “Doña Masa Guides and Blow You Up…” is not your average astrological reading but a reading. This horoscope reading is provided to you by “The artificial satellites of Doña Masas and her ensemble ‘The Astrologists’”. This horoscope is messy, kitschy, shady, and more. Dripping in slang and particularities, it was everything and more to read. Doña Masas does not tell you what you want to hear but what will set you straight and leave your mouth agape. For example, Sagittarius:
“Sagittarius: Generous, beautiful, the big whores of the Plaza [a pun, and also euphemism in this context for the streets], I mean, of the Zodiac. No other sign is more faggotty, more scatological… I mean, they talk and eat so much, but so much shit that they have continual verbal diarrhea. This month, not even an exaggerated dosage of Peptobismal saves y’all.”
I highly urge you to read your horoscope if you are Spanish-speaking and get some humbling laughs. I leave you in celebration of Aries season with this translation:
“Aries: How are you all behaving, crazy spider women? Well, the truth is I don’t know because Jupiter is parked in front of Mercury and he, damn annoying, doesn’t let me see anything. Arieans are so gray, so uninteresting, that regardless, I don’t care.”
Valeria is interning at QZAP this semester. She is in her senior year at University of Wisconsin-Madison studying Gender & Women’s Studies. She was born and raised in Valencia, Venezuela and now lives in Teejop land (Madison, WI).
Menstruaciones No Binarias part 2: Interview with Rebeldia Menstrual and Eróticas Fluidas
When I first came across Menstruaciones No Binarias, I was immediately struck by its depth, its urgency, and its commitment to dismantling the normative narratives surrounding menstruation. After writing about the zine in my last blog post, I knew I wanted to go further—to hear directly from the voices behind this work. In this post, I am honored to share an interview with Nachi of Rebeldía Menstrual and Andre of Eróticas Fluidas, the brilliant minds who collaborated to create this transformative text. Their insights shed light on the importance of reclaiming menstruation as a political act, the challenges of crafting inclusive language, and the ongoing fight for trans and nonbinary menstrual justice. Because language and accessibility are central to our shared mission, I have translated our conversation from Spanish to English while keeping both versions in this post. I hope that, through their words, you feel the same sense of empowerment, resistance, and possibility that this zine so powerfully conveys.
Valeria: Which key moment or experience motivated the creation of a zine that questions the binaries surrounding menstruation?
Nachi & Andre: The key experience that motivated us to create the zine was finding ourselves in the dilemma that the majority of the available materials about menstruation are made, thought of, and directed by and from ciswomen towards ciswomen, leading to aside all menstruating living experiences of sexual and gender dissidents. Finding ourselves with that profoundly essentialist, biologically deterministic, and cisheteronormative reality made us unite our projects and create this zine together.
V: Sexual health and menstrual experience are also mentioned as political acts in the zine. How do you both see this position’s impact on the fight for rights for trans and nonbinary people?
N & A: We think that the most significant impact is amplifying the vision that we understand for the rights of trans people beyond identity, together with the visualization that there are many possible experiences when we talk about menstruation and ovum-menstrual cycles. We say it is a political act due to permitting us to amplify the imagination about the possibilities of menstruation, particularly concerning people of different sexualities and/or genders.
V: The zine stands out for its inclusive and accessible language. How did you both confront the defiance to create material that could resonate with many identities and diverse experiences?
N & A: This was one of the purposes of creating the zine, amplifying the forms of access to the knowledge from our situated experience. That is how it converted itself to grand defiance with the language used since the exact intention is to amplify the experiences, not reduce them. Besides, we wrote the zine from our own sexual dissident voices, and this reveals a specific sensibility in the hour of investigation on how to choose to explain it and address the topics.
V: You talk of the pathologization of menstruation in medical and social discourse. What changes do you think are necessary in the health system to address menstruating experiences in a more inclusive manner?
N & A: Firstly, we think that the whole health system should be transformed, and that would implicate reformulating the notion of health/illness. If we specifically speak about the topic of menstruation, the topic of gender identities would be urgent. As such, in the professional health practices and the community actions of sexual health approach, but also in public politics that should repair within the lives of sexual and/or gender dissident people. If we dream of changes, we could talk about generating a vision of a comprehensive reality, not just bio-deterministic about people.
V: How do you both perceive the impact of international distribution networks in the diffusion of projects such as this zine? And what challenges or benefits do you consider that bring forth these global links?
N & A: In the case of distribution networks found in Chile, Mexico, and Argentina, having an impact that, through our own efforts, we couldn’t have achieved. There lies the importance of international networks to diffuse projects and trespassing borders. Part of the benefits has been having a larger impact on international communities, amplifying to readers the material and receiving feedback on contexts that aren’t our own, and then enriching the prior reflections of the publication.
V: The zine mixes with theory, personal experience, and practice. How did you balance these perspectives, and what role does each have in the final narrative of the zine?
N & A: We both made common contributions; we wanted to share information in an accessible form, which is typically in a very medical and academic language, and at the same time, share reflections on our own terms. We did the whole process of investigating, writing, and creating the zine together. Each of us indeed has expertise due to our professional and biographical journeys. Rebeldia Menstrual approaches the hormonal processes, the ovum-menstrual cycle, menstrual hygiene, and others from this project. Eróticas Fluidas approached the critical vision and the political position around sexual and affective education that we want to construct.
V: What are the origins of “Rebeldía Menstrual” and “Eróticas Fluidas”? From your experiences and perspectives, how did these personal projects surge? And what motivated you both to develop them?
Andre: Eróticas Fluidas surged in 2020 as a self-managed project where I sold sex toys and articles for sexual pleasure. This is how the focus quickly shifted towards autonomous research, the publication of zines, participation in podcasts, and the creation of various workshops related to sexual and emotional education from a sexually dissident and critical perspective. The motivation for developing the project was and continues to be deeply rooted in a strong conviction that erotic and epistemic justice lies within ourselves, and that through these lived experiences, we can reduce the harm that most sexually and/or gender-dissident people are exposed to.
Nachi: Rebeldía Menstrual has its origins in 2017, the same year I discovered the menstrual cup and was in my fourth year of studying Obstetrics. Reaching that point in my life and discovering how the menstrual cup was transforming my menstrual experience and the way I understood my vulva, vagina, uterus, and menstruation was a revelation. I thought, more people need to know about the menstrual cup and deserve to know themselves in this way. So, I created a page and started distributing menstrual cups. Through the internet and by participating in various fairs, I began selling cups. Over the years, I expanded to selling menstrual underwear, cloth pads, menstrual discs, and in recent years, even zines. From the very beginning, my goal was always to make information accessible to people. Selling products was just the excuse and a way to bring a bit of economic sustainability to the project.
V: Could you share more about the methodologies you use when creating your zines, from conceptualization to the final design, and how you integrate artistic creativity into the process?
N & A: Our methodology is quite artisanal and improvised; we don’t follow formal investigative design processes. Instead, we focused on making a critical compilation of the available material and developing our own ideas about what we wanted to express. This process took us about two years (and was carried out remotely due to the pandemic) to finalize the design virtually. During this time, the illustrator Alineandome joined the project to handle the layout and illustrations for the final zine. Artistic creativity is contributed by everyone involved in the project.
V: In addition to “Menstruaciones No Binarias”, what other projects have you been developing recently, and how do they relate to or expand on the topics covered in this zine?
N & A: We have dreamed of transforming the zine into a workshop, where we can engage in lived, experiential dialogue with people and share the information in other formats, not just through reading. This is a pending project that we hope to bring to life in the future.
V: Finally, what hopes do you have for this zine in the future? How do you envision its impact on international communities, especially in queer and non-binary spaces?
N & A: Our hopes for the zine are that it continues to travel through sexually and/or gender-dissident communities across the world wherever it can reach. This is why the material is open for distribution and available to be sold and shared by anyone who gets in touch with us.
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Valeria: ¿Cuál fue el momento o experiencia clave que les motivó a crear un zine que cuestionara los binarismos en torno a la menstruación?
Nachi & Andre: La experiencia clave que nos motivó a crear el fanzine fue encontrarnos en la disyuntiva de que la mayoria de los materiales disponibles acerca de menstruación están hechos, pensados y dirigidos por y desde mujeres cis a mujeres cis, dejándo de lado toda la vivencia menstruante de las disidencias sexuales y de género. Encontrarnos con esta realidad profundamente esencialista, biologicista y heterocisnormada nos hizo unir nuestros proyectos y crear juntes este fanzine.
V: En el fanzine mencionan que la salud sexual y la experiencia menstruante son también actos políticos. ¿Cómo ven el impacto de este posicionamiento en la lucha por los derechos de personas trans y no binarias?
N & A: Creemos que el mayor impacto es ampliar la visión de lo que entendemos por los derechos de las personas trans y no binarias más allá de la identidad, junto con visibilizar que hay muchas experiencias posibles cuando hablamos de menstruación y ciclos óvulo-menstruales. Decimos que es un acto político ya que nos permite ampliar el imaginario acerca de las posibilidades de la menstruación, particularmente en relación a personas disidentes sexuales y/o de género.
V: El fanzine se destaca por su lenguaje inclusivo y accesible. ¿Cómo enfrentaron el desafío de crear un material que pudiera resonar con tantas identidades y experiencias diversas?
N & A: Este era uno de los propósitos al crear el fanzine, ampliar las formas de acceder al conocimiento desde nuestra experiencia situada. Así fue como se convirtió en un gran desafío lo del lenguaje usado, ya que justamente la intención es amplificar las experiencias, no reducirlas. Además, escribimos el fanzine desde nuestras propias voces disidentes sexuales y eso devela una sensibilidad específica a la hora de investigar y elegir cómo se explican y abordan los temas.
V: Hablan de la patologización de la menstruación en discursos médicos y sociales. ¿Qué cambios creen que son necesarios en los sistemas de salud para abordar de manera más inclusiva las experiencias menstruantes?
N & A: En principio creemos que todo el sistema de salud debería transformarse y eso implicaría reformular la noción de salud/enfermedad. Si hablamos específicamente del tema de la menstruación, serían urgentes los cambios en temáticas de identidades de género. Así como en las prácticas de los profesionales de salud, en las acciones comunitarias para el abordaje de la salud sexual, pero también en políticas públicas que reparen en las vidas de las personas disidentes sexuales y/o de género. Si soñamos con cambios, podríamos hablar de generar una visión que realmente sea integral y no sólo biologicista acerca de las personas.
V: ¿Cómo perciben el impacto de las redes de distribución internacionales en la difusión de proyectos como este zine, y qué retos o beneficios consideran que trae consigo este alcance global?
N & A: En este caso las redes de distribución se encuentran en Chile, México y Argentina, teniendo un impacto que por nuestro propio esfuerzo no lograríamos. Allí es donde radica la importancia de las redes internacionales para difundir los proyectos y que traspasen fronteras por sí solos. Parte de los beneficios ha sido tener impacto en comunidades internacionales, ampliar a les lectores del material y recibir retroalimentaciones de contextos que no son el nuestro y eso enriquece muchísimo las reflexiones posteriores a la publicación.
V: El zine mezcla teoría, experiencia personal y práctica. ¿Cómo equilibraron estas perspectivas y qué rol tuvo cada una en la narrativa final del fanzine?
N & A: Ambes hicimos aportaciones comunes, queríamos compartir información de una forma accesible, que normalmente está en un lenguaje muy médico y academicista y al mismo tiempo compartir reflexiones en nuestros propios términos. Si bien todo el proceso de investigación, escritura y creación del fanzine fue en conjunto, es cierto que cada une tiene su expertiz por su recorrido profesional y biográfico. Desde el proyecto Rebeldía Menstrual se aportó sobre los procesos hormonales, el ciclo óvulo-menstrual, la gestión menstrual, entre otros. Y desde el proyecto Eróticas Fluidas se aportó sobre la visión crítica y el posicionamiento político en torno a la educación sexual y afectiva que queremos construir.
V: ¿Cuáles son los orígenes de “Rebeldía Menstrual” y “Eróticas Fluidas”? ¿Cómo surgieron estos proyectos personales y qué los motivó a desarrollarlos desde sus experiencias y perspectivas?
Andre: Eróticas Fluidas surge en el 2020 como un proyecto autogestivo donde vendía juguetes sexuales y artículos para el placer sexual. Así fue como rápidamente el eje giró hacia la investigación autonóma, la publicación de fanzines, la participación en podcasts y la creación de diversos talleres relacionados a la educación sexual y afectiva con perspectiva disidente sexual y crítica. La motivación de desarrollar el proyecto tuvo y tiene que ver con una fuerte convicción de que la justicia erótica y epistémica está en nosotres mismes y que a través de esas vivencias podemos reducir el daño al que nos vemos expuestes la mayoría de personas disidentes sexuales y/o de género.
Nachi: Rebeldia Menstrual tiene sus inicios en el 2017, el mismo año en que descubrí la copa menstrual en mi vida y que estaba cursando 4 año de la carrera de Obstetricia, llegar a ese punto de mi vida y descubrir como la copa menstrual estaba transformando mi experiencia menstrual y la forma que tenía de conocer mi vulva, vagina, útero y menstruación fue una revelación, pensé que más personas tienen que conocer la copa y merecian conocerse así mismas, asi cree una página y comencé a distribuir copas menstruales, a través de internet o participando en distintas ferias comencé a vender copas, con los años llegué a vender calzones menstruales, toallas de tela, discos menstruales y también los fanzines estos últimos años. Mi objetivo desde un inicio siempre fue poder acercar la información a las personas, el vender productos era la excusa y la forma de poder darle un poco de sustentabilidad económica al proyecto.
V: ¿Podrían compartir más sobre las metodologías que emplean al crear sus fanzines, desde la conceptualización hasta el diseño final, y cómo integran la creatividad artística en el proceso?
N & A: Nuestra metodología es bastante artesanal e improvisada, no nos guíamos por diseños investigativos formales sino que fuimos más bien haciendo una recopilación crítica del material disponible y una elaboración propia acerca de lo que queríamos decir. Así fue como nos tomamos aproximadamente dos años (y a la distancia producto de la pandemia) en crear el diseño final de forma virtual y donde se sumó la ilustradora Alineandome para la diagramación e ilustraciones del fanzine final. La creatividad artística es propuesta por todas las personas involucradas en el proyecto.
V: Además de “Menstruaciones No Binarias”, ¿qué otros proyectos han estado desarrollando recientemente, y cómo se relacionan o expanden los temas tratados en este fanzine?
N & A: Hemos soñado en convertir el fanzine en un taller, donde podamos dialogar vivencialmente con las personas y abrir la información en otros formatos, no sólo de lectura. Este es un proyecto pendiente que esperamos llevar a cabo en el futuro.
V: Finalmente, ¿qué esperanzas tienen para este fanzine en el futuro? ¿Cómo visualizan su impacto en las comunidades internacionales, especialmente en espacios queer y no binarios?
N & A: Las esperanzas ligadas al fanzine es que siga viajando por comunidades disidentes sexuales y/o de género de todas las partes del mundo al que pueda llegar, es por esto que el material está abierto para distribución y disponible para ser vendido y difundido por cualquier persona que se ponga en contacto con nosotres.
Valeria is interning at QZAP this semester. She is in her senior year at University of Wisconsin-Madison studying Gender & Women’s Studies. She was born and raised in Valencia, Venezuela and now lives in Teejop land (Madison, WI).
