Headband Queen

The headbands I make are fabric, wire, and thread.

The headbands I make are an easy way to make quarantine hair look alright.

My shot at collaborating with an artist I love.

My realizing-I'm-queer-and-coming-out-of-the-closet story.

My god-I-love-being-among-these-revolutionaries story.

My community-never-felt-so-good story.

The headbands I make were just an idea - for years. I loved those little headbands stitched over wire and thought they'd make a great Etsy shop. The idea sat in the back of my mind, growing whenever I had a spare moment to daydream; a dream-I-know-will-never-come-true kind of daydream that brought a bit of whimsy to the practicality of each day. One day a name even popped into my mind: Headband Queen. How kitsch.

Yet - in April of 2020, there was no normal. There was no "sticking to the practical things." There was only fear, disinfectant, emergency stashes of food, and rapidly cycling news. There was my 800-square-foot apartment where two of us suddenly worked-from-home on stacks of books made to look like desks, strewn across the living room floor - forcing the surface of my eyes and mind forward while still jittering with uncertainty from my dermis to my core.

When, day after day, the clock struck five and my laptop closed, I sat on the living room/office floor, hovering over the sewing machine I'd bought for $20 on Craigslist, trying to have a quarantine hobby. And somehow all I could do was sew in straight lines. I had piles of fabric from a local art supply re-use center, and over and over again I cleared by mind by cutting -- and often ripping -- it into strips and sewing straight lines. Stitching it over wire and sewing straight lines. Sewing in straight lines over video calls with friends and family; sewing in straight lines while playing mediocre virtual game-night games; sewing in straight lines watching every episode of MTV's Catfish, and Netflix, and Sharktank, and the news. Sewing in straight lines and crying, feeling helpless in an increasingly divided world. Sewing in straight lines until I was sitting in a pile of wire headbands for no one at all.

Eventually, I thought they could be for someone; they could brighten someone's day; they could keep someone's overgrown bangs out of their face while they Zoom-ed into work and pretended everything was normal. I listed them on Etsy and shyly made an accompanying Instagram account: @headbandqueenshop. I announced I'd give away free masks and donate a portion of the proceeds to two nonprofits I love -- the Ali Forney Center and Life After Hate -- which, respectively, provide housing and support to LGBTQ+ youth experiencing homelessness in New York City and assist those who are ready to leave lives centered around hate and rebuild. Amidst the onslaught of bad news, the thought that I might be able to donate to those I felt were making the world a better place was a lifeline.

Folks trickled in, buying headbands or a mask or two, and I hand-wrote notes to everyone asking them to tag me on Instagram if they loved their headband and happened to take a photo. To my surprise, they actually did! And they were all beautiful. Artists and creators, students and lawyers, sex educators and tarot-card readers, scholars and musicians -- all dedicated to the common cause of building a more beautiful world, and all excited about doing so through something as simple as a headband. As I stitched hundreds of masks and headbands and shipped them to California, New York, Wisconsin, Paris, and Berlin, the community grew, following and supporting one another, and it became the greatest gift I've ever received. In the process, I've met folks who have allowed me to probe my identity and beliefs, who have been willing to collaborate with me to create art I never thought possible, and who have pushed me to follow my dreams. Friendships which, in various, circuitous ways have empowered me to come out as queer, have encouraged me to live a bolder life, have allowed me to donate over $800 of my sales to the Ali Forney Center and Life After Hate, and which, most importantly, have reminded me that there is an ever-present pulse of hearts and minds who are committed to making the world a brighter place.

The headbands I make are fabric, wire, and thread.

They're hope for a better tomorrow.