These stories had deep histories, centered Black women, and belonged to us. We only had to be brave enough to claim them.
But I’m a Cheerleader gave me something to hold onto: for the first time, I had seen queer love and community.
Extreme heterozygotes are everywhere in this world. Everyone could be one.
What is lost in a story that chooses to make Brandy a princess and Whitney Houston a fairy godmother despite their Blackness, not because of it?
We Asians were in this thing—racist America—together.
I cannot explain queerness any longer in ways that don’t involve ghosts.
Look like “a boy,” they call you “a boy.” Everyone believed my mother got her answer to her prayer, and for a while it seemed to be so.
Hayley’s rage-filled vocals used to provide an emotional outlet that gave voice to loss, anger, and confusion I couldn’t put words to yet.
Seeing Nick’s imperfections play out in a way that shows he is not a failure, just human, is exactly what I needed to get me through quarantine.
“Plastic Hearts” was the album I needed to hear, articulating what no one else would tell me: My plastic was no longer serving me.