Ainsley: Playing Dress-Up
I loved playing dress-up as a kid.
I had boxes full of tulle dresses, feather boas, fancy hats, sparkly heels, and brightly colored plastic jewelry. Once, during a playdate, the other kid complained to my mom that I’d already changed my outfit three times as I walked out of my room in another new ensemble.
On my first day of second grade, the teacher welcomed me during roll call by telling the class she remembered when I used to come pick up my older brothers in a frilly pink tutu.
I loved clothes – the way they looked in the box and on my body, the way the different fabrics felt on my skin, and the way they transformed me into someone else. Halloween quickly became my favorite holiday.
Left: Ainsley, a white person with strawberry blond hair, at 4 years old shown standing in front of a Christmas tree. Ainsley is wearing layers of pink and purple tule, a sequined silver hat with purple feathers, a purple feather boa, and a fake pearl necklace. They are holding a purple feather fan in front of their torso. There are a few wrapped presents behind them in the background.
Center: Ainsley age 5 standing outside on a wooden deck smiling at the camera, face partially in shade. They are wearing a white dress with a satin skirt and somewhat seethrough top with gold shoes. They have a white skirt worn on their head as a veil which is cascading down their back.
Right: Ainsley just over 2 years old standing in their living room next to a yellow chair with a few toys on the floor behind them. They are wearing a dark blue sweater with flowers underneath a white tulle dress that is both backwards and inside out. They are also wearing blue floral leggings and a burlap-esque hat with ribbon on it. They have one hand to their mouth and are looking down.
And it didn’t stop there. I dressed up all the way through high school, randomly deciding to go head to toe in my grandma’s clothes from the 40s on a Tuesday or wearing an all black outfit topped off with a faux leather jacket, patterned tights, and a bowler hat just because. Fairy wings were a staple statement piece by that point and my collection of rainbow knee high socks was overflowing.
Ainsley age 14 smiling at the camera while standing in front of a dining room table. They are wearing a black faux leather jacket, black tank top, black and white polka dot layered skirt, and black tights with white stripes. Rainbow fairy wings peak over their shoulders and their hair, more red now, is in two braids.
Shocking no one, I was voted Most Unique at the end of my senior year, just nine months after I’d successfully run for – and won – Homecoming King. My parents weren’t surprised by the latter in the least: while I always dressed up as a princess throughout childhood, it was the prince who I actually wanted to be.
L: Ainsley age 3 standing next to a childhood friend. Ainsley is wearing a white shirt and blue underwear, no pants, and a king’s crown and red and white royal cape. They have one hand out to the camera and are smiling. Ainsley’s friend is a white person also age 3, mouth open looking at the camera in an all blue outfit topped with a white hat with brightly colored polka dots.
R: Ainsley age 17 standing outside their light brown house in front of several planter boxes filled with flowers. They are posing for the camera with a smile and both hands held out to their sides, red hair hanging down to their chest in two low pigtails. They are wearing a blue t-shirt, blue plaid capri pants over aqua blue tights, and a black vest with silver buttons. On their head is a green velvet crown with a white fur trim and gold ribbon. On the crown’s rim the words “Homecoming King” are embroidered in gold thread.
But I wasn’t out to them yet. I had known I wasn’t straight since middle school, and was out to most of my friends as bi by freshman year, but it wasn’t until I was twenty-two, my heart freshly broken by a girl an ocean away, that I finally felt comfortable with and confident in my queerness. I was here, I was queer, and I was ready to dive into the world of dating, sans cis-het men. And as I stopped trying to make myself attractive and desirable as deemed by patriarchal standards, I realized I didn’t have to dress up in the femininity I’d felt forced into my entire life anymore.
In true queer fashion, I overcompensated for my years of performing heteronormative womanhood by going hard in the “other” direction. I wore button ups and blazers and anything I could find in my size that mimicked menswear. As a crafter of many passions, I started making my own clip-on bow ties with fat quarters and hot glue, wearing a different one to work each Thursday because it allowed me a pop of flair amidst a newly neutrals and solids centric wardrobe from the men’s department; I thought that was my only style option as a non-femme queer. Luckily, by the time I got back into sewing four years and a newly articulated non-binary gender identity later, I realized that was all bullshit.
Ainsley age 23 standing outside at a bus stop holding a coffee cup and looking away from the camera, laughing. They are wearing khaki pants and a grey sweater over a black button up shirt with a bright pink bow tie. Their red hair is cut short and hidden under a tan beanie.
So when I started sewing my own clothes out of necessity, unable to find anything that fit both my body and my gender presentation on either side of the store, I let myself make my dreams come true. What did I always dream of finding off the rack? What did I like from the men’s cut silhouettes that always failed to fit my hips? What did I love to see on the women’s side but never let myself have because it felt wrong to wear something so pretty when I wasn’t a woman?
What did I actually want to adorn my amazing, queer, small fat body with?
The answer was simple: I wanted to look in my closet everyday and feel the joy of six-year-old Ainsley going through those sacred boxes of dress-up clothes.
I wanted bold colors and loud prints and button up shirts without bust darts that felt flowy and free.
I wanted to adorn my body in soft fabrics decorated with delicate flowers.
I wanted to reclaim the color pink.
I wanted the shortalls and cropped tops I used to think my body didn’t deserve.
I wanted the elaborate jackets I’ve lusted after since I first saw fairy tale princes riding off on adventures, coattails blowing in the breeze behind them.
Today, four years into sewing for myself, I feel proud of all the pieces I’ve created. I have a handful of button ups after deciding they’d be my first foray into garment sewing. (I made the first one without a pattern or a plan, but with plenty of support from the incredible queers who stepped in to save me.) I have yards of cream cotton canvas covered in soft pastel paint splatters from my mom’s garage waiting to be transformed from curtains into cute shortalls. I have soft pink pants and a sharp black floral vest and rainbow dinosaur boxer briefs and flowy bright red booty shorts covered in flowers that I made out of an Old Navy shirt I found on the sidewalk (why not?).
Looking at all these clothes I’ve made for myself, I see the creativity not only of the actual construction that went into making each garment, I also see the creativity of play that comes when I put them on. As someone who doesn’t fit into societal structures made for men or women, I have the privilege of playing with what feels right for my limitless expanse of a gender each and every day. My non-binary queerness grants me the gift of freedom and creation.
Ainsley age 30 standing outside in front of a shingled blue wall. Ainsley, a small fat white person with short red hair, is wearing dusty rose cropped pants and a cropped white button up covered in bright flowers. They have their hands in their pockets and are looking at the camera, smiling.
As I near thirty, I’ve learned that sewing for my inner child is simply sewing for me.
It’s giving myself what I have never stopped wanting. It’s saying to all the versions of myself that I carry within me that I don’t have to keep my favorite pieces of clothing, of myself, separate. I don’t have to transform into someone else and play pretend to adorn my body in delight.
I can simply be the me I’ve always wanted to be – the me I’ve always been.
Ainsley Blattel (they/them) is a non-binary, queer crafter living in Oakland, CA. They have been actively sewing for four years since the need for gender and body affirming clothes to wear to work as a wedding planner arose. They love plants, cats, crafting, feeling their feelings, and watching the sunset over the ocean. You can find them on Instagram at @lazyandrogyny.
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