What’s the vibe? is all things gay, feminine, empowering, campy, and fun. The goal of this magazine is to empower and encourage readers to not only take fashion risks but also use it as a statement. Aesthetics and beauty are often deemed as something not important, and claims are made that it has no ties to the politics and opinions of the world What’s the Vibe? thinks the opposite
Fashion is inspired by the state of the world, inspiration is everywhere. We find ways to incorporate political conversations into a fashion statement. In order to give credit where credit is due, What’s the Vibe? magazine strives to provide information about the source of our fashion inspirations, everyday apparel, and aesthetics.
Founded by Foster Monroe and Emma Lu Sarkissian, we take our Midwest mindset and pair it with our experiences around the world. We look for things everywhere and find ways to incorporate ideas and aesthetics worldwide into our readers' world.
To me, Pride feels like going home.
I grew up in Chicago surrounded by queer culture, often without even knowing it. I went to art schools, lived in a historically lesbian neighborhood, and even had a dad in the circus. Minus a few exceptions, most of my youth took place within queer communities.
Not only did these communities give me examples of the multitudes that queer life can hold, but they also offered me space to explore my own identity without shame, providing me the room I needed, and often still need, to find and work towards being my most authentic self. It wasn’t until I got older and began to understand my own queer identity that I truly realized how much of an immense privilege this was.
There’s a sign, passed down from my grandma through three generations, hanging in my childhood bedroom that reads, “There will be only one of ‘ you ’ in all time. That identity is cancelled if you are not always fiercely yourself.” This is something I have repeated in my head nearly daily, as I work to live my life every day as the truest version of me. But the truth is, I would not be me if it weren’t for the queer people and spaces I’ve had the immense privilege of knowing throughout my childhood and young adult life. They allowed me to understand the world through a lens of limitless possibilities and fueled me with the courage to be anyone and do anything.
I’ve since moved from my hometown of Chicago but as I’ve entered my twenties, with much to still learn about myself, I’ve found comfort and unexplainable amounts of love within other queer people and queer spaces. I search for them wherever I go because it is there, within the walls of queer friendships and voices, that I feel like I’m home.
Foster Monroe
When Connor Ives designed the now-famous “Protect The Dolls” shirt moments before his 2024 London Fashion Week show, he had no idea how much popularity it would gain. He screen-printed the phrase onto a white T-shirt in just three minutes before the show began, yet the simple shirt stole the spotlight from the entire show, and his entire collection The next day, he woke up to hundreds of messages from people asking where they could buy the shirt. It was clear this was the beginning of a fashion-led movement. The shirts were quickly made available, selling for $99, with a majority of the proceeds going to the trans rights organization Trans Lifeline, a group that provides emotional support through a peer-led hotline run by and for trans people, as well as financial assistance for those transitioning. Since its debut, the “Protect the Dolls” tee has been seen on stars like Charli XCX, Troye Sivan, and Pedro Pascal, who sported the top on the red carpet, becoming a social media phenomenon When asked about the shirt, Ives said, “The girls who walk my shows are trans, and I have friends who are trans women in the United States. It reached a point where I couldn’t really remove myself.” A statement that feels as relevant as ever Ives’s shirt arrives as a sharp relief against the backdrop of the current political climate. Since Donald Trump’s presidency, over 850 anti-trans bills have been introduced across the United States, including bans on gender-affirming care for youth, military service, and the permitting of federal discrimination against trans people These policies and Trump’s Project 2025 threaten to systemically erase trans lives from public policy and culture. As Joshua Block of the ACLU said, “Trump is determined to use every level of government to drive transgender people out of public life ” And this erasure isn’t just happening through legislation. In 2024 alone, at least 32 transgender people were murdered, 78% were people of color, and 56% were Black transgender women.
Throughout queer history, fashion has always been a form of protest. During the AIDS crisis, ACT UP’s iconic “Silence = Death” shirts repurposed homophobic Nazi imagery to scream for queer survival and bring attention to the AIDS epidemic. In the 1970s, Vivienne Westwood also utilized queerness in fashion as a form of political disruption. Her infamous 1975 gay cowboy shirt, which featured two nearly nude cowboys, showed that protest doesn’t have to be polite. It can be flashy. It can be glamorous. And with the Protect the Dolls shirts, it can also be femme Wearing one of these shirts isn’t just a fashion statement, it’s a refusal to be erased. But what does it mean to be a doll?
The term “doll” first emerged in the 1980s within the New York City ballroom and drag scene, an underground culture where queer, Black and Latina trans women and other femme-presenting people could exist in an authentic, community-built space. These late-night balls, often held in secret locations, offered queer people, especially queer people of color, a rare space of glamour, fantasy, fame, and, most importantly, safety and acceptance Within these walls, you could become anyone: a highfashion icon, a powerful executive, or a vision of pure imagination, simply by dressing the part and performing with conviction. And if you were the best, a trophy awaited you.
The community was structured around “houses,” which functioned not just as teams but as chosen families. Each house was led by a mother or father who selected their “children”, young, often displaced queer individuals, and provided them with both a support system and a crew to walk the balls with Houses competed in various categories, each striving to bring home the most trophies and the most respect. It was here that BIPOC trans women coined the term “doll” as an endearing and confidence-boosting word, typically used to describe other trans femme women. In a time when trans women were shut out of public life, terms like this allowed them to recognize one another, acting as a form of cultural kinship, similar to how “friend of Dorothy” once coded queerness.
It is these same house mothers and other trans icons who have carried this lineage forward. Lady Chablis, aka The Doll, a legendary performer from the 1980s, once described her stage persona as: “‘The Doll’ is my fantasy character. It made me comfortable on the inside.” Gia Gunn, on the Trixie and Katya Show, declared: “At this point, Trix, the dolls will be dolls.” In a similar statement, Peppermint, the first Black trans woman to star in and produce her own reality TV show, The TS Madison Experience, often says “The dolls are here!” as a rallying cry Also continuing the legacy is Peppermint, a Broadway actress and RuPaul’s Drag Race alumna, who uses her platform to advocate for Black trans women, along with Angelica Ross, who blends Hollywood glamour with politics, challenging the systemic tokenization of trans voices. Meanwhile, other ballroom house mothers like Octavia St. Laurent and Leiomy Maldonado keep femme performance alive as a form of celebration and resistance.
For some, the term “doll” represents aspiration For others, it’s political, a way of powerfully defining oneself despite the world’s expectations and rigid binaries. And for some, it doesn’t resonate. Some trans women reject the term for implying artificiality or placing too much emphasis on femininity as a measure of validity. But for many, to call someone a doll is to honor her beauty, her boldness, and her survival. A 2023 University of Kentucky article puts it this way: “This aspirational model of femininity is best summarized by the recurrent ‘doll’ figure. Something perfect to be seen and valued for its beauty and intentional construction.”
In a world that targets trans femmes, being visibly femme is dangerous. But it is also defiant. Being a doll holds multitudes of power within itself. It is choosing to embrace beauty, joy, authenticity, and community in a society that has criminalized these things. Whether it’s the “Protect the Dolls” T-shirt or the fashion choices trans women are making every day, fashion is proving to be a political statement. And for many Black trans-led organizations, fashion isn’t just about what you wear. It is protest, culture, survival, and resistance. The Marsha P Johnson Institute is one of the most visible organizations fighting for Black trans lives Their work pairs direct aid with cultural expression, from digital zines to high-fashion photo shoots. Founder Elle Moxley often appears in couture on the frontlines of protest. Their message? Femininity is not a weakness. It is revolutionary.
At House of Tulip in New Orleans, founders Mariah Moore and Dylan Waguespack provide housing as gender affirmation. Their portraits of residents are lush, joyful, and femme-forward. Moore says, “There’s nothing more revolutionary than a Black trans woman feeling safe enough to wear what she wants ” These are just some examples of the people and organizations actively working toward a better future for trans people. Protecting the dolls means more than just a slogan on a T-shirt. It means acknowledging the realities trans femmes face, and then fighting to make sure they can live safer, more visible, and more free lives. It means seeing femininity not as a weakness but as a beautiful and powerful form of resilience. It means letting a silk dress be armor. Letting a beat face be protest. Letting a doll be a doll. Because the dolls are here. And they’re not going anywhere
Pearls, Pins, and Pride
Emma Lu Sarkissian
For years, the queer community has used fashion and Pride as a powerful way to express who they truly are. From icons like Marsha P. Johnson to Billy Porter, it’s clear that the clothes they wore weren’t just style choices; they were statements. Fashion became a reflection of identity, resistance, and everything they were fighting for.
Pride Month is a time for people to come together and be their truest selves, without worrying about what the rest of the world thinks It reminds individuals that they are part of a vibrant, resilient community. At a moment when legislation and fear tactics are trying to force queer people into hiding, and even dictate what they can and cannot wear, it’s more important than ever to remember this: queer fashion has always been about visibility, resistance, and reclaiming power. Fashion is protest. It allows you to be seen exactly how you want to be seen, and that’s exactly how it functions during Pride. So, what are people wearing? The queer community has long used accessories and clothing to convey powerful messages, from pearls to pins to white tank tops. Whether it’s your first Pride or you’re a seasoned attendee, it’s important to recognize the meaning behind many of the garments you’ll see at Pride events, big and small
One of my favorite Pride details is pearls There’s something so powerfully delicate about a string of pearls draped around the necks of queens marching in the streets. This tradition traces back to the woman who started it all, Marsha P. (Pay It No Mind) Johnson After famously resisting a police raid at the Stonewall Inn, Marsha, a trans activist, became a figurehead for Pride and queer liberation in America. As she fought for her own rights and those of others, she often wore pearls, an emblem of femininity that many women of her time wore to formal events to be taken seriously. Today, people wear pearls during Pride to honor her legacy and to embrace the same kind of powerful femininity she did.
Another underrated but impactful accessory, especially during June, is the pin. Pride pins are bold, beautiful statements, sometimes literal ones You’ll find them at booths and stands during Pride, and I encourage you to pick one up. They're small, subtle, but mighty. Emerging from the era of Stonewall, pins were often used to quietly signal solidarity, beliefs, and resistance, if you knew to look closely. Today, they carry the same message. So as you walk through Pride this year, wear your pin as a reminder of all the love and resilience that came before you, and of the love that can still grow from something as simple as a small accessory. Pride pins let the world see you and stand with you, no matter your identity.
One of the most iconic looks I always see at Pride is the white tank top. This simple, universal piece, known by many names, has a complicated history. Once associated with rugged masculinity and violence in pop culture. Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire, who was openly bisexual, helped give the white tank an aura of raw power and queerness. Today, many lesbians, nonbinary, and gender-fluid folks wear it proudly, as a rejection of gender norms and an embrace of masculinity on their own terms
The beauty of the white tank top is that it’s for everyone. It has no rules. It’s fluid. It’s understood. And that’s what makes it feel so queer. Anyone can wear it, pair it with anything, and make it their own. It embodies everything the LGBTQ+ community continues to fight for: freedom, fluidity, and self-expression.
Now, I’m a firm believer that there are rules in fashion, some things work well together, and some don’t. But one rule I’ll never agree with is that fashion must be gendered. My whole life, I’ve gravitated toward clothes traditionally seen as “men’s.” They’re comfortable. They feel right on my body. And that, to me, is the most important fashion rule: wear what makes you feel like you.
So whatever you decide to wear for Pride, whether it’s a skirt, a tank, pearls, pins, or something entirely your own, make sure it feels like you. That the fabric sits right on your skin, and you feel at home in your body. Pride is about safety, visibility, and authenticity. So go out there and be fully, fearlessly yourself, because that’s what this is all for.
THE ART OF FREEDOM
Honoring Black Queer
As June begins, two powerful celebrations unfold: Juneteenth and Pride. Both are rooted in the ongoing fight for liberation, recognition, and dignity, and both intersect through shared histories of resistance and resilience. Without the leadership and voices of Black LGBTQ+ individuals who have long stood at the frontlines of these movements, there would be no Pride as we know it today.
Juneteenth marks a delayed but momentous freedom in the United States It commemorates June 19, 1865, the day enslaved people in Galveston, Texas, were finally informed of their freedom, more than two years after the Emancipation Proclamation. It is a celebration of Black community, culture, and courage. Yet it is also a stark reminder that freedom delayed is freedom denied.
The relationship between Juneteenth and Pride invites us to reflect on the intersections of race, gender, and sexuality, and the expansive meaning of freedom. It gives us space to honor those who paved the way. What’s so powerful about these individuals is how freely and unapologetically they lived and created Through art, music, fashion, and words, Black queer voices have always found ways to show that they are here.
Take Jean-Michel Basquiat, the groundbreaking contemporary artist of the 1980s. In his Hollywood Africans series, he tackled the racist stereotypes imposed on Black actors in a white-dominated film industry. Through chaotic color palettes and scribbled, provocative text, Basquiat forced viewers to sit with their discomfort and reflect on the weight of these harmful narratives. His art was personal, political, and entirely his own
In fashion, Willi Smith, co-founder of WilliWear, redefined the industry by bringing streetwear to the forefront in the 1980s. His designs were rooted in identity, access, and representation. Inspired by everyday life rather than elitist runways, Smith made clothes that told stories particularly for young Black and queer individuals who were so often excluded from fashion’s mainstream narratives His work helped lay the foundation for streetwear as we know it today. But more than that, his legacy is about breaking barriers, elevating unheard voices, and making space for everyone to be seen.
In music, artists like Doechii and Tyler, the Creator are carrying that legacy forward. As Black and bisexual artists, they reject the idea of staying within one genre or one box. Doechii fuses rap and R&B to explore and celebrate her queerness, femininity, and Blackness, inviting listeners into her world with every track. Tyler, the Creator has challenged how queerness is discussed in hip hop, threading these conversations into the fabric of his sound and visuals. Both artists honor those who came before them by pushing boundaries and speaking their truths.
These artists exemplify the deep, unbreakable connection between Blackness and queerness. Their work insists on being not only visible but celebrated. They reject narratives that try to separate queerness from Blackness or prioritize one over the other. Instead, they embrace the totality of who they are, offering power and affirmation to those who feel ignored or erased. Their art isn't just about representation; it's about reclaiming who gets to define beauty, vulnerability, and coolness. It's about reaching the kid who feels unseen, uncertain, and alone
Juneteenth and Pride are not just celebrations for a single month or moment. Celebrating Black queer artists both emerging and established is not optional; it's essential. Every platform matters, from a global stage to a local open mic. When we honor Black creatives at every level, we affirm that Black queer art is not a trend. It is a legacy. A legacy without which our culture and our lives would not be what they are today
Based out of NYC, Agbobly is a queer Black owned knitwear brand centers its designs around immigrant narratives. Using colorful threads, they provide unique, one-of-a-kind garments.
Founded by first generation Nigerian American Kingsley Gbadegesin, K.NGSLEY is a Black-owned brand aiming to reclaim and redefine the Black, Queer, Femme body. Their designs feature effortlessly cool gender neutral styles
Based in Brooklyn and founded by Emma Dimarco, Kissing Cowboys is a queer owned small buisness with vintage inspire designs that aims to cultivate queer community through fashion.
EMERGING
Beloved by queer creatives, Tyler McGillivary is a queer owned brand focused on sustainibility and ethical practices. Her designs are fun, colorful, and beautifully expressive.
Founded by MI Leggett, a nonbinary and transmasc designer based in NYC, Official Rebrand focuses on anti-waste gender-free designs, rejecting binaries both in fashion and identity.
QUEER DESIGNERS
Foster Monroe
To me, Pride is about feeling 100% authentically myself.
I grew up in a very conservative small town in southern Illinois where queer people, especially in the years I was growing up, were not welcomed. It has gotten better since I left in 2017, but it is still not a very welcoming community to anyone who isn't white, cis, or rich.
My older sisters moved to Chicago when I was young I’m sure my Mom was scared, but little did they know that they were presenting me with a path to feel welcomed and wanted in a city I may never have otherwise ended up in.
My first Pride event was the Chicago Pride Parade in 2014. Since then, it has always been one of my most looked-forward-to weekends of every summer. While still in school, I would come up to the city to attend Pride, never missing a summer. The energy was so full of joy and made my closeted queer self feel so seen. Being surrounded by the love I wanted for myself one day was a powerful thing. Now, I live in Chicago and get to attend Pride as someone little me would be proud of.
All this can’t be said without drawing attention to the injustices happening every day to the LGBTQ+ community. One day queer people will be more open to be themself everywhere, but until then, I’m grateful for Chicago and the love it has for everyone, regardless of how they identify.
Trans rights. Queer rights. BIPOC LGBTQ+ rights.
DRESSING OUT LOUD
What does it mean to dress queer? I don’t mean how to dress while being queer, but rather how to wear your identity, whether loudly or discreetly How can what someone wears signal who they are?
Fashion has always allowed people to wear their identity, literally, on their sleeves. Long before Pride parades or fashion weeks, queer fashion existed as a way to reflect identity and call out to community. Whether it came through the lavender wreaths of ancient poetry or a carabiner clipped to a belt loop, fashion has, in many ways, always served as a quiet language within queer life, a form of communication, especially in times when silence was a matter of survival
Queer people have always existed, and with them, so has queer fashion. In the 7th century BCE, the Greek poet Sappho of Lesbos wrote of women adorned with wreaths of lavender and violet garlands, describing their beauty and eroticism. These accessories symbolized more than style, they represented what we would come to understand as queer love. Though historical evidence surrounding Sappho and her circle is scattered and translations vary, the message is clear: queerness has always existed, and it has always dressed itself
Jumping forward many centuries, in 1890s London, Oscar Wilde famously wore a green carnation on his lapel and encouraged other queer men to do the same
This discreet accessory became a way to see and be seen without ever explicitly naming anything Wilde’s style, velvet coats, lace cravats, jewel-toned waistcoats, defied the era’s post–Great Masculine Renunciation trends. In his case, fashion wasn’t just flamboyance, it was rebellion dressed in luxury
The 1920s and ’30s ushered in a new era of androgyny, particularly among women Coco Chanel introduced designs that rejected traditional feminine silhouettes in favor of looser, more functional shapes. These styles, along with short haircuts and trousers, offered women new freedoms For queer women, they also became essential tools of identity Cabarets embraced this aesthetic, and queerness flourished in its folds In queer circles, tailored suits, bow ties, and slicked-back hair weren’t just fashion statements, they were declarations.
From the 1940s through the ’60s, World War II brought utility into women’s wardrobes Women working in factories wore trousers, boots, and overalls, clothing that many kept after the war ended. These silhouettes became quiet identifiers of queerness.
Lavender, once again, emerged as a symbol of queer association, echoing Sappho’s floral imagery. Sylvia Beach, the famed Parisian bookseller and publisher, was known to pin violets to her lapel in subtle defiance
And then there was drag, equal parts performance and protest. Sequins, wigs, boas, and makeup became sacred tools of transformation. Camp, within drag, wasn’t born as kitsch but as critique: exaggerated femininity reframed as power
In the 1970s, post-Stonewall, fashion became explicitly political Lesbian feminists pioneered the “anti-fashion” movement, rejecting the male gaze and heteronormative beauty standards. They wore flannels, workwear, baggy jeans, and buzz cuts as both armor and assertion. At the same time, many gay men in urban centers embraced leather and hypermasculine looks, tight jeans, harnesses, and mustaches It was a form of camouflage and erotic defiance, flipping the aesthetics of masculinity on their head and turning them into queer statements.
In the 1980s, a pierced right ear became a coded signal for gay men, discreet but risky The homophobic phrase “right is wrong” emerged in response, highlighting both the danger and the necessity of these quiet signifiers. The ballroom scene peaked in the ’80s as well. In New York, Black and Latinx queer communities gathered to compete in categories like Femme Queen, Executive Realness, and Runway Fashion here wasn’t just about the look, it was about survival, kinship, and selfinvention. Clothes became a form of chosen family. As the AIDS crisis raged, fashion transformed further into protest Activists reclaimed the upside-down pink triangle, a Nazi-era symbol used to identify queer people, and turned it into a badge of resistance Amidst silence and death, dressing loudly became an act of radical defiance.
In the 1990s, queer style thrived in subculture. Riot grrrl and queercore movements championed thrifted clothes, combat boots, and binder clips as accessories It was DIY, unapologetic, and deeply political Lesbians, bisexuals, and nonbinary people developed identifiers of their own. Carabiners clipped to belt loops weren’t just for keys, they became visual cues, part code, part in-joke Perfectly cuffed jeans, oversized button-ups, and flannels tied at the waist could speak volumes in the right context
Black queer fashion icons, especially those within stud culture, offered a distinctive aesthetic balancing masculinity, elegance, and individuality: fresh fades, gold hoops, clean sneakers, and layered jewelry. To dress queer is to join a lineag, one that stretches from ancient poetry to ballroom glam to a carabiner clipped to your jeans It’s understanding that every detail might mean something to someone else That a look can be a message. That sometimes the quietest outfits carry the loudest truths.
We’ve always existed, and we’ve always dressed like it
a Baby Gay’s Guide to the Gay ClUb
If you ’ ve never been to the gay club it’s normal to be nervous about what to wear You’re about to enter a room full of divas and dolls who will show out no matter what day of the week it is. You may look at your outfit and be worried you ’ re too under or overdressed but that’s the beauty of the gay club, there’s no such thing as under or overdressing because it’s all about attitude. But for all of our gaybies out there, fret no more because we have a style guide to the gay club that will give you tens across the board.
So no matter what you choose to wear, embrace the fullness of those clothes and accessories. Let their attitude be apart of your own for the night and put on your sunglasses because it’s time to dance. And remember: drink water, keep an eye on your friends and please please please wear deodorant
ere ’ s an awkward point in all our lives where we ’ re trying our harde not to seem out of place. That point usually starts sometime in middle school and trickles into high school. I look back at this time and remember how badly I tried to fit in. I would have crushes on boys, not always because I liked them, but because that’s what girls were supposed to do. I wore clothes I didn’t feel comfortable in because I wouldn’t dare dress differently. The list goes on. I’m not really sure at what point I realized I wasn’t enjoying the life I was leading, but I felt like I was faking it to please those around me. I wasn’t being myself.
I tried to keep the feeling to myself for a while. I wasn’t sure what it meant. Honestly, sometimes even today I’m not sure what it means. I’m talking about the feeling when you begin to think about who you truly are and recognize what you really believe. To me, this feeling is pride.
I remember the first time I wore something out because it felt right, not because I felt like I had to wear it. At first, it was uncomfortable because I wasn’t used to how natural that feeling was yet.
I remember the first time I told someone I had feelings for a girl and how terrified I was of what they would say. But when I did, they made it seem like it wasn’t a big deal because it wasn’t. I remember this feeling of my pride setting in and how truly at peace I felt with myself.
To me, that is what Pride is. It’s this feeling that only you can individually experience, where you ’ re truly yourself. Your heart almost sets into place because you feel so at home in your skin. It’s a feeling I hope everyone is able to experience in their life.
It is the beauty of a community coming together to support and uplift that feeling. No matter who you love, how you identify, the color of your skin, the neighborhood you came from, or any circumstance, we are all human. That awkward kid trying to figure out the big world deserves to be celebrated and uplifted, and I’m proud to say that I’m celebrating her today.
Being queer saved my life Often we see queerness as deprivation. But when I look at my life, I saw that queerness demanded an alternative innovation from me. I had to make alternative routes; it made me curious; it made me ask, “Is this enough for me?”
