Lane Stowell, an aspiring games designer who identifies as bisexual and non-binary (their gender identity journey is still ongoing), remembered that people used to wear purple in remembrance of LGBTQ+ teens who died by suicide. According to The Trevor Project, queer youth are around five times more likely to attempt suicide than heterosexual youth. For a long time, Stowell thought they would be part of that statistic.

"I went through some really horrible shit for being gay and have been beat up for being gay" said Stowell, who is 25 years old.

Lane Stowell in high school. (Photo courtesy of Lane Stowell)

Their experiences have been colorful (ask them about living in pre-gentrification Brooklyn) but their wardrobe is anything but. The only patterns they can stand are understated or floral Hawaiian shirts that are the only accent in the outfit. They attribute their preference for monochromatic clothing to their east coast background.

Because their father was in the military, Stowell moved around frequently, but spent most of their high school years pretending to be straight in a conservative pocket of Pittsburgh. Already targeted for being Jewish, they were scared to give the world another reason to target them.

For Stowell, acting straight meant mimicking the style of those around them. "That layering trend from Abercrombie? The worst. But I wore it because I didn't want to be singled out," they said.

Dressing straight happened out of both safety and financial necessity. Most of the clothes they wore in high school were hand-me-downs and Stowell was often the (dubious) beneficiary of clothing their peers would donate to the local Salvation Army.

Wearing them to school was something of a Russian Roulette of embarrassment. One day, a girl came up to Stowell because she recognized their shirt. Her name was still on the tag.

Growing up, they had hobbies such as figure skating and cheerleading that demanded extreme, uncomfortable femininity.

Because of the community they grew up around, Stowell had few resources to explore their gender and sexual identities. "In retrospect, I should've known way earlier that I wasn't okay with this. When my breasts started growing in middle school, I sobbed," they said.

Stowell, who described their ideal body shape as a pole with no distinctive features, went into a mourning period of three weeks and began binding their chest with ACE bandages.

At one point, their father noticed that when they weren't doing cheer, they wore baggy clothing. "It's like you want to hide your figure," he told them.

Yeah. That was the point.

"I don't wish to be perceived," Stowell said.

Lane Stowell at their college graduation. (Photo courtesy of Lane Stowell)

In fear of being chased away for their identity and in need of a mentor, Stowell went online to find one. "Not great safety practices online for a middle schooler, but I did it and it worked," they said.

The people they found tended to be older, 40s and up. In the Pittsburgh queer community Stowell discovered, small symbols, such as wearing a safety pin, indicated that someone was a safe space.

During college, Stowell said to hell with high school and began to experiment with their look. "I had a binder that was way too small for me and an ugly ass wig that you could tell was a wig," they said. "That was my way of testing out how I liked to present myself."

Stowell stopped wearing dresses and wore a suit to their college graduation. Also, they recently shaved a slit in one of their eyebrows in pursuit of the eboy aesthetic.

One of their closest mentors was a gay man who passed away from AIDS. He grew up in New York and experienced a lot of gay bashings. This man knew survival and passed on tips to Stowell because that was what they needed.

"Don't ever let other people tell you how to live your life," he told them. "If you're scared, that's okay. Whatever gets you through to the next day."

Seattle. Three years ago. Hannah Kreiswirth waits in line with their mother outside a busy restaurant.

Then, out of nowhere, a random woman in the same line snaps, "Does brushing up against me turn you on?"

Hannah Kreiswirth's mirror selfie. (Photo courtesy of Hannah Kreiswirth)

Kreiswirth laughs while telling this story, "She basically made this presumption based on how I look that I was gay and liked women."

This was before they, a 22-year-old cinema and media studies major at the University of Southern California, came out as bisexual and non-binary. They use they/them, but prefer to go by "Hannah" as much as possible.

Hannah started to dress up more when they were a freshman in high school. "The first thing I noticed was I was getting more attention. I used to be really shy around people," they said. "It was a way of expressing myself."

Although they describe their style as androgynous, they used to wear a lot more low-cut clothing that they steer away from now.

"It reminds me that even though I identify as non-binary, I kind of have a female figure nonetheless," Hannah said, referencing their preference for loose fitting and high-necked clothing. "I would rather just cover up and ignore it."

Hannah's personal style is eclectic. When they traveled to London, Hannah bought a French worker's jacket from an underground thrift store. Their wardrobe comes from Urban Outfitters when they have a good sale, Goodwill, the internet, and sometimes from their mother, who saved a lot of clothes she wore in the 80s and 90s.

Craig Vincent and Robert De Niro in a scene from Martin Scorsese's "Casino." (Photo courtesy of IMDB)

"There's this one jumpsuit I wear a lot. It's stripes, vertical stripes, with light blue, pink, light orange and white," they said. "And it has this patch on the lapel that says Rosie. Whenever I wear it, it's funny, it's like, 'Oh, is your name Rosie?'"

Hannah's fashion is an Easter egg. As you understand their style, you learn a little more about them. As I reach for descriptors, I don't go to words. I go to the screen.

It's Annie Hall meets Anne Shirley, but androgynous; it's a little Lady Bird, and a little Euphoria, but more in vibe than in actual style.

When I asked about their favorite film fashion moment, their answer was, no hesitation, Robert de Niro's brightly colored suits in Casino. "I would love to have suits like that one day. Well-tailored suits, even though I'm five foot and one and a half inches," they said.

Hannah sitting in a blue shirt in front of a floral background. (Photo courtesy of Hannah Kreiswirth)

The challenge of finding a well-fitting suit when you're petite and have some curves aside, Hannah said that they're more comfortable with dressing androgynously now than they were several years ago. It went from "I wish I could wear that" to "I will wear what I feel like wearing."

Looking queer isn't something that bothers them. "It makes me kind of proud, at least with my friends because when I first came out, I didn't really feel like I fit in," they said. Hannah is short, looks somewhat feminine, and is still in a relationship with their high school boyfriend. Looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, right? Not really.

"When people are like, 'Oh you look this certain way,' it feels reassuring to me," Hannah said. "Like when they tell me that in a positive way. Obviously, when I was accused of, you know, sexually touching a random old woman, it doesn't feel that great."

Jay Kinman in formal attire. (Photo courtesy of Jay Kinman)

Jay Kinman dresses in what seems like his Sunday best every day. Openly transgender and pansexual, the 19-year-old lives in a small blink-and-you'll-miss-it conservative town called Silverton, Oregon, that is best known for venerating Bobbie the Wonder Dog, a Scotch Collie/English Shepherd mix.

Kinman is a devout Christian and is studying to become a pastor.

"I try to look fashionable and semi-formal at all times," he said. For him, that means patterns, button-up shirts and colored pants. He's got a pair of maroon slacks that he enjoys a lot.

"I kind of dress like an old man. There's a lot of older people who go to my church, and so we find that we tend to be dressed the same," he said cheerily. "My pastor specifically likes the way that I dress and she thinks that it's cool."

Despite his style, shopping stresses him out, partly because of social anxiety, partly because of his gender identity. "Sometimes I'll need to buy like a sports bra or something because I can't bind, and going into the men's changing rooms with a bra is kind of awkward," he said.

Kinman said that every time he's used a binder in the past, his ribs have gotten dislocated. "There's one specific rib that just doesn't like it when my chest is compressed. It gets all inflamed and swollen," he said.

Silverton is far from the friendliest place for queer people. Kinman's had people yell slurs at him from the streets or their cars. His father, who worked for a Christian company, lost his job after Kinman came out as trans.

Because of the environment he grew up in, he was hesitant to identify as anything other than a cishet woman. He didn't even think it was an option.

Later, he began researching what the Bible said about queer people, coming to the conclusion that the text says nothing against them. "It was a huge, huge relief to me," he said.

This began a journey of trying out labels, trying to find what fit. When he was 16, he - then identifying as a cis woman - came out as a lesbian and broke up with his boyfriend. Several months later, he came out as non-binary. Then, in February 2019, he came out as a transgender man.

Through his journey, he's had to completely rebuild his wardrobe twice, once after he came out as a trans man and again after he gained weight. "It's kind of been a transition in and of itself," he said.

Dressing elegantly gives him power and helps with his mental health. Kinman has chronic depression, which he inherited from his mother, and also experiences dysphoria. When he hits a rough patch with his mental health, you can see it in what he wears.

Jay Kinman with his partner. (Photo courtesy of Jay Kinman)

Gone is the Sunday best. It's t-shirts, jeans, oversized sweatshirts, and the like. Anything that will hide his body and make him invisible.

"Most of that was because I was dealing with dysphoria that I didn't know was dysphoria," said Kinman, referencing a bad mental health episode.

His partner, whom he describes as one of the most fashionable people he knows, pushed him to get back into his personal style.

"I put a lot of effort into my appearance because I want to feel confident and comfortable in my skin, and I didn't feel that way for a really long time," he said. "Fashion actually helps a lot with that because I can express myself in a way that reflects my personality."

Later, I asked him what Bible passage was the most significant to him or representative of him:

At first, Alystair J. Augustin searched for words to describe themselves and their style. "I'm pretty gay in general, style wise and definitely, I guess, me as a person," they said. "I'm black. I'm a first-gen American. I'm from New Jersey; pretty much a Jersey bitch through and through."

Augustin taking a mirror selfie while wearing a tank top and blank pants. (Photo courtesy of Alystair J. Augustin)

They describe their general style as butch, as kind of grungy, as kind of punky, and as kind of goth-ish. The day we spoke, they wore a used pair of high-waisted Levi's, slides, and four layers on top: a grey-and-black grandpa cardigan, a faded cornflower blue collared shirt, a brown thermal, and a 19th Amendment t-shirt they turned into a crop top.

They describe their general style as butch, as kind of grungy, as kind of punky, and as kind of goth-ish. The day we spoke, they wore a used pair of high-waisted jeans, slides, and four layers on top: a grey-and-black grandpa cardigan, a faded cornflower blue collared shirt, a brown thermal, and a 19th Amendment t-shirt they turned into a crop top.

Augustin, who is agender, has known he was queer since high school. He told a few people he was genderqueer freshman year. Sophomore year, he cut his hair (partly because he was on the wrestling team, which was destroying his long hair) and stopped buying women's jeans. Junior year, he started using both he/his and she/her pronouns, but everyone default to she/her. Senior year, they began using only they/them and he/him pronouns.

He also came out to his mother during high school, who met them with love and acceptance.

"I did a lot of the changes I wanted to do before more strictly coming out," they said.

They realized how gender-ambiguous they looked when they went to use a lady's restroom and a woman in there got upset.

Augustin, who works as a peer health ambassador for the Translatinx Network, a NYC-based transgender advocacy group with both a local and national focus, said they don't pass as either a cis man or a cis woman. "I'm fairly curvy. Like, I have titties and I can't bind very hard because of medical stuff," they said. "I'm, like, fairly tall for someone who is assigned female. I have broad shoulders. I'm naturally pretty muscular. I have PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome) so I have facial hair."

Augustin taking a mirror selfie while wearing black pants and a jacket with patches on it. (Photo courtesy of Alystair J. Augustin)

This has led to some instances when older women, particularly older white women, have stared or gotten upset with Augustin for using the women's bathroom. "There's always something that's, like, a litle too spicy about me, I think, for some to handle," Augustin joked.

Augustin is Trinidadian on their mother's side and Polish on their father's side. "Both I would say are pretty gendered cultures, for pretty different reasons. Trinidad because of colonialism and Poland primarily because of the Catholic Church."

When they were around eight years old, Augustin and his family went to Trinidad for Carnival. "I was wearing cargo shorts, a t-shirt, and my hair was in a mini-Afro. And everyone thought I was a boy. I was like, 'I'm not a boy!' The gender journey is so interesting," they said.

At this point, they do not speak with their father; although they've gone to Poland many times, they don't speak the language or have a close connection to the culture. Now that they are older and have more agency over their connection to Poland, Augustin has been reconnecting with their Catholic heritage.

"I'm baptized Catholic, but I didn't really practice until college. And part of that, for me, has actually been practicing hair modesty and wearing a hair scarf in church," he said.

The practice of hair modesty isn't something younger Polish women often do. "It's like old ladies, basically. You know, babushkas and stuff," Augustin added.

They said they've always had this affinity for hair modesty, which is at odds with their desire to not be immediately perceived as a woman or as feminine.

"At this point, I guess, like, it's another thing where it's like, I don't even fucking care anymore. Like whatever, people can think what they want," he said. "But I want to practice hair modesty and that's what I'm going to do."

Haley Tomaszewski got her first pair of men's pants when she was in the first grade: a pair of blue pants that zipped off into shorts. Even though they now realize those shorts were ugly, at the time, they thought they were so cool and practical that a spy might wear them.

At first glance, it's easy to put their style into a box. Not a lot of colors. Not a lot of prints. When we met, they were wearing a pair of khaki pants, a navy sweater, and sneakers that were falling apart. Above all, their style is practical and steady.

It wasn't always that way. Tomaszewski, who identifies as bisexual and non-binary, describes her fashion journey as something of a roller coaster.

Haley Tomaszewski fixing their hair. (Photo by Diana Postolache)

It started with the media they consumed when they were younger. They picked up from books that the girls who never cared about their appearance were the protagonists, while the girl who did her hair and makeup was the villain. Femininity = vanity = bad.

"I thought that I can't be like that, so I shouldn't care what I look like," they said. Then came the Catch-22: they were miserable because they thought they were ugly, but guessed they were supposed to look like that.

High school rolled around. He learned what internalized misogyny was and tried to embrace femininity by wearing women's clothing. Even thought they never hated it, it didn't feel like who they wanted to be. Then, he started collecting men's items bit by bit, or getting women's clothing that looked similar to men's clothing - and eventually, just migrated to buying a lot of his clothes in the men's section.

They never got the impression that their family cared that much. When they were younger, it could be waved away by saying, "Oh, she's just a tomboy." There came a moment of realization for their mother, though, when she realized that it wasn't just being a tomboy.

"She bought me that pair of pants in the first grade, so she's obviously down," they said. "She never tried to stop me. I could tell that it made her slightly uncomfortable in different ways, but I could also see her kind of like, sit back and just tell herself, 'It's not my business.' So, I really love and appreciate her for that."

Since starting college, they've felt a little more liberated to shop how they want to shop.

"I didn't start buying men's underwear until I got here because I could just go to Uniqlo by myself. No one's here to stop or judge me, except for everyone else in the store. But, who cares? It's not about them," he said.

Tomaszewski is a practical shopper. They love durable, thick fabric and hate thin materials that make them feel like they're suffocating. Buying online is risky, because if something doesn't fit, it's a waste of money. Shopping in person takes longer and can be hit or miss.

Although they want a suit, they're still on the fence about getting top surgery, and don't want to drop money on a well-tailored suit until they decide.

A close-up on Tomaszewski's shoes. (Photo by Diana Postolache)

"Since I did grow up with the sensibilities of like, vanity is evil, I'm even now still not used to thinking that I can spend money on clothes," they said.

With their short hair and gender-neutral style, sometimes Tomaszewski worries that people will think that they are a lesbian.

"I feel like I might be disappointing to people who perceive me as one. I hate to think that I would be the person who makes somebody else think that lesbians are attracted to me," said Tomaszewski.

"It's hard when queer people have spent so long trying to develop looks and styles to be able to present themselves and be perceived as gay, and then feel like you're betraying that cause by not being gay enough or whatever," they added.

Still, they acknowledge that this feeling is all in their head.

"I know I should stop thinking about the big, nebulous, meta picture, because it doesn't matter that much. You just have to do your best with what you do, as you go through life. That's all," Tomaszewski said.