From Faggot to Bitch

Let me start this post by saying that I firmly believe that words only have the power that you give them. My entire adolescent life I was called a “faggot” or a derivative of such. This happened to me before I even knew what the word meant, or that I would soon self-identify with it. However, I always knew there was shame associated with this slur by the way other kids hurled it at me as a demeaning weapon. This word positioned me as part of the “other,” and because of that there was something inherently broken or wrong within me. So yes, words have power and they can hurt, because I let them. But without life skills and experience that only living brings, how could I even understand the ability to fight their power? 

When I finally escaped Coweta, Oklahoma and found myself at university in Philadelphia in the early 00s, I began to cultivate the persona I wanted. I came out as a young, active gay man. I found a supportive group of friends and people I wanted to embrace as my family. They became a supportive web for my fractured heart, and showed me that words could only hurt me if I let them. This increased self-esteem was a slow task, but I soon refused to allow the author to give words more power than me. Then one dizzying night with these friends, those two worlds of my past and present collided to put this to the test. 

My Golden Girls buddy, Nick Madsen had led our gaggle of gays out on the hunt for cocktails—or as we so often called it, Cock ‘n Tails! After throwing back a few at our local, and laughing the entire time, we headed back home empty-handed. (Unless you count that innocent grope at the bar, but that’s another story for another time!) Nick, leading our crew, was never a shy, wallflower type, practically Grand Marshalling a parade every where he went. Tonight was no exception. So as we walked through our own cobblestone, campus streets—a locale I had grown used to feeling safe and secure in its collegiate liberalism—it happened. That word pierced the darkness, while the rest of the world fell silently away. “Faggottttts!!!” My shoulder blades scrunched, muscles tightening in fear, and I was immediately transported to my teenage self. 

Was it because we were a group of guys stumbling merrily together? Our high-pitched camaraderie echoing drunkenly off the historic walls? Nick’s magenta, velvet jacket flashing signals to the uninitiated? All of these things, that deemed us faggots in the night? I’ll never know for sure, but we all spun on our heals in that moment looking for our perpetrator. As we spotted him from a lit window from the nearest fraternity house, Nick began to hurl abuse back at him. I, meanwhile, realised that my self-assumed confidence was maybe not so confident. In one instance, that word was haunting me again. 

Once Nick had protected our livelihood with his own colourful language, and we all assumed our attacker to be nothing more that one of us still in the closet, we proceeded home. What feelings of uncertainty this experience left me with though! With my guard down, I had almost faltered in the power dynamic of sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. The struggle I thought I had won confronted me like a monster in the night. And it does to this day. Words are powerful and they can wound others, intentionally or not. As I’ve said, and I still believe, they only have the power we beget them. However, as strong as we may be, and as protective we are of these powers, at any moment are defensives can be breached. I now move through life staying as knowledgeable and strong as I can, but also self-aware enough to know when I do get hurt it won’t be for long. I’ll be as faggy as I want to be, thank you very much. 

I tell you this story as evidence of my sensitivity to the word, “bitch” as ensconced in this pillow. I’ve had numerous conversations with female friends about its linguistic history past and present. Some abhor its usage, while others couldn’t give a flying flip as they throw it back in my face with a devilish cackle and ode to reclamation. My personal choice is not to use the word as an insult, at least towards women. Like “faggot” the word is too enshrined with historical hatred  for me not to be aware of how painfully it could be received. I mean, literally, “female dog” thrown upon any woman seems quite a juvenile and simplistic way to express any feelings of frustration or anger. I’m much more creative in my insults!

However, when it comes to my gays! Holy Lourdes, the dental dam is open and ready for business. All linguistic sensibilities are off limits, and there is always time to read for filth. You see, if you can forgive the generalisation, gays have a history of subverting insults as a way of creating coping mechanisms. We reclaim words in order to shape the narrative and own the power they have. I like to think we have also developed a thick skin (again, fully aware of the generalisation) due to our own life experience. One has to look no further to the singular experience I recounted earlier to understand the abuse many of my peers and I have received throughout our lives. I tell you all this so you don’t come for me with pitchforks raised. This bitch knows my audience and I would never dare insult you with superfluous demeanour. Instead, this cushion is for my B(G)FF—best gay friend forever—Zach. You may remember him as the recipient of my quilt “The Big D!” Yes, that is the type of relationship we have. He’s my bitch, I’m his bitch, and many of our conversations involve talking about big dick. Welcome to the life of a gay!

Now, as for the details regarding this cushion. First of all, isn’t it divine? That’s a rhetorical question you should all be nodding yes to! The lovely Kristy from Quiet Play gifted me her paper-pieced Geometric Alphabet pattern so I could fulfil my bitch’s unknown wish for a cushion bearing his name. If you don’t own her pattern, this is a shameless plug for it here, here, and here. I used my blue scrap bin for the letters, and a Hoffman digital print called Facet Geo Prism for the background. I wanted to play with the traditional dichotomy of pink and blue to further blur the gender boundaries and gender associations of the word bitch. 

I thoroughly enjoy paper-piecing and working with an expanded palette of the same hue to create a richness in my textile work. This pattern offers that in spades, so if that’s your jam donut, you won’t be disappointed. Since it’s paper-pieced you can make these letters any size you like. For the backing I used a Cotton & Steel print by Rashida Coleman-Hale called Geo Drops (geo trifecta!) combined with a little colour-blocking pop of pink on the edge. I followed this up with a concealed hot-pink zipper that I extended using Blossom Heart Quilts Pretty Zips tutorial, and then I installed using SOTAK Handmade’s tutorial. This is my new favourite zipper method, which gives you a deluxe result without a lot of hard work. Like me, it’s classy, easy, and unzips on command!

For the quilting I opted for a diagonal cross hatch, using some blue painters tape to guide my stitch lines. Fortunately, I had an Aurifil variegated thread (3817 Marrakesh) in my stash ready to go that blended perfectly with the multi-coloured background fabric. The original plan was to throw in some pom-pom trim, but would you believe I lo and behold forgot to lay it in place while stitching the whole thing together. I got to the end, proud of my work, only to look down and see it on the table. Well I wasn’t about to unstitch the whole thing for the sake of some trim!

I gifted this cushion a few weeks ago to my bitch, Zach, and I’m pretty sure he was happy to receive it. His initial response was “Thanks, my favourite bitch!” followed by a hug. So there you have it: my own personal past imbibed into my current personal journey. I hope you appreciate how such a small token to a dear friend has inspired me to share such an intimate moment of my life. These sparkles of reflection give me insight into the how and why I create what I do. So whether you believe in my linguistic paradigm, or simply believe in my fabric choices, thank you for being here to believe.