Coming Out: the story behind our photo stories

by Hanna Torseke, the visual editor of The Queer Issue

Memory n° 1

In the summer of 2014, I found myself walking down the streets of Zanzibar extremely dehydrated. With the blistering heat hitting close to 40 degrees celsius, and the cultural taboo of showing female bodies freely in the town capital, I decided to exchange my plans to wear a bathing suit accessorized with a bucket full of ice, for a set of ‘male’ board shorts paired with a polo shirt, courtesy of my boyfriend at the time (to cover up my far too ‘sexually enticing’ knees).

Within the first few meters of stepping outside, I was passed by a man who gave me an alarmingly confused look. I hear him muttering to his friends in Swahili; “Is that a man or a woman?”.

The comment made my stomach drop. Confused reactions often occur when there’s a lack of prevalent ‘straightness’ in my physical appearance. “I am so obviously a woman!”, I wanted to shout back. Having endlessly dealt with varying degrees of gender and body dysmorphia, this situation wasn’t helping at all. It did, however, make me rethink,

“Why am I so insecure about being perceived as masculine?”

Memory n° 2

In the fall of 2016, I found myself laying eyes on Brussels for the first time. Doe-eyed and keen to get to know the city’s inhabitants, I ventured out with a newly formed group of friends to Rue des Bouchers, the home base to the city’s most tourist-laden restaurants. Sporting a ‘basic bitch’ uniform — a standard set of slit and cropped skinny jeans and a small ‘feminine’ top — I felt particularly heteronormative and confident.

When I walked into the bar, a little ahead of my friends, there was a group of rowdy guys lined up against the wall as I turned to walk inside. I tried to initially ignore the pack, but one reached out to grab my arm and pulled me closer. By the time I’ve politely declined his offer of a night of intimate adventure, another grabs me to try his luck. Soon, I have about 5 pairs of nonconsensual hands on me at once. Gross. I feel disgusting.

(The cycle only ends once a male friend steps in.)

“Should I be dressing more masculine?”

A double-edged sword

Now, this isn’t a coming-out per se. A coming out doesn’t need to equate to a viral video on how parents or friends react, or a huge scandal with a large audience. So rather than take a deep dive into technical semantics on sexuality, I wanted to discuss what the two stories above represent — the double-edged sword of being *insert gender/sex here*.

The sword is meant to represent the double standard that many of us endure with perceptions of sexuality and gender. It represents to me the constant inner conflict and insecurity I have over my femininity, masculinity, and ‘queerness’. It stands as an important reminder of our internalized prejudices, biases and expectations. As time moves on and taboo topics of sex and sexuality move towards a space of (slightly more) open dialogue, I can’t help think back on my own experiences and how they’ve shaped me.

Overcoming ambiguity

Drawing majorly unwanted attention due to my awkward teenage lankiness and ‘abnormally tall for an Asian-ness’, comments on my physical appearance eventually drove me towards hating my body.

“If I wasn’t like this, people would stop pointing it out.”

Issues of identity were never clear to me — the intersection of adoption, prevailing ‘white’ standards of living and looking, and battling Asian stereotypes were complicated enough. Coming to terms with my personal ‘queerness’ was never on my list of priorities. Unfortunately, these experiences sent me into a state of body and gender dysmorphia — an issue that still affects me fairly regularly and had a fundamental part to play in the selection process for the stories in the Queer Issue. In many ways, I wanted readers to explore how perceptions can distort how we see others or ourselves.

“I hope I sort of achieved that?”

While I thoroughly enjoy resilient ambiguity in most things, I knew that I wanted to pursue stories that embraced as many different aspects of the queer experience as I could with the pitches we had. To achieve that the selection process and development of each story was meticulously thought out.

Exploring the queer experience

There was a strong drive to showcase a story that played with gender. Aay Liparoto’s story regarding their own androgynous experience felt dear to my heart as someone who has struggled with it and thought about it a lot as of late.

I show the pitch to our editorial panel.

“This is what the root of queer art looks like,” exclaims a member of our editorial panel.

*Basks in validation*

We obviously can’t talk about queer issues without talking about homosexuality. Marc Martin’s piece was able to highlight the historical significance of men’s public restrooms — a section of LGBTQ+ history that’s been swept under the carpet by the community itself.

It’s a steamy story so I’m rating it PG-13.

I also can’t forget to thank Melissa Ianniello for her intergenerational approach, sharing stories of Italy’s older generations’ coming out stories. Indeed, we don’t often get to hear stories of how activism and LGBTQ+ rights have changed and (in most cases) progressed over the years. Each photograph shows a person or couple that shares how they came out and ended up together.

Since my queerness has remained in this in-between and fluid realm of thinking, I could never quite advertise myself as (openly) queer. So we included a piece that would highlight the ability to maintain safe spaces with proper allyship. Damien Frost is this amazing photographer who has spent the last few years photographing queer and underground club scenes. The interview with him includes questions relating to safe spaces, photography ethics, and what allyship means to him.

This piece is not a “How to be an Ally” handbook, but a collection of thoughts and stories from Frost’s experiences as a photographer. It also has some incredible portraits that you wouldn’t believe were taken in an alley.

To squeeze in one last thought — I give my final thanks and gratitude to the photographers and illustrators I got to work with for this issue, as well as the incredibly supportive editorial team for keeping me stable during the process. I could not have done without you.

Should I be ghost writing award winning speeches?

xo, Hanna