Black, Queer, Alternative Style at Harvard

In eighth grade, I was a proud alt kid. My style at the time was defined by the fact that I wore black almost every day. I was never able to shop at Hot Topic, or collect pop punk band tees, or wear thick black eyeliner, but black clothes were my accessible connection to the abstract subcultural style to which I aspired. At age 14, I wasn’t knowledgeable about the deep histories of the emo, scene, goth, and punk subcultures I admired, but I knew that the aesthetics they embodied were associated with unapologetic individuality, freedom, and queerness. Sadly, my adolescent alternative moment was just a phase, but the intentionality of style that is inherent to subcultural aesthetics still influences what I wear today.

My freshman fall, I took a course on subcultures, and it had a profound impact on the way I think about the relationships between style, identity, and community. According to Ross Haenfler, a preeminent scholar of social deviance and the author of Subcultures: The Basics, a subculture is “a relatively diffuse social network having a shared identity, distinctive meanings around certain ideas, practices, and objects, and a sense of marginalization from or resistance to a perceived ‘conventional’ society.” There are an endless number of different subcultures, including punks, dandies, New York City bike messengers, and more. Often, attraction to subcultures is a result of other forms of social deviance or marginalization, as communities form out of a shared experience of exclusion from the mainstream. For Black and queer people, subcultural identification and its accompanying alternative aesthetics can be a means of finding agency and community when society-at-large makes it difficult to do so.

Harvard, as an institution, is rooted in histories of white supremacy and classism. Marginalized people here have had to find ways to create space and visibility for themselves, and some have done so through alternative styles and/or subcultural identities. For this column, I interviewed three Black, queer people who define their style as alternative. Here’s what they had to say.

Halle (they/she, ’24) is an ultra high-femme, alternative, pastel goth, pink-centered, y2k, colorfully sexy fairy/supernatural being/Bratz doll/cartoon character. They don’t identify with a particular subculture, but alternative aesthetics have given them a way to create their own character and to find communities that reflect their interests and identities. Coming to college gave them the opportunity to craft a new wardrobe—one full of clothes that a hot cartoon would wear.

Jaida (any pronouns, ’24) is an urban queer background character in an 80s movie about dancing. Embracing Black alternative aesthetics has allowed them to find confidence and creativity through their style. However, formal events at Harvard can be daunting for Jaida, because they don’t like traditional formal menswear. This is partially due to an aversion to masculinity, and partially because “the fits just don’t hit like men think they do.” They’ve considered womenswear as an alternative, but that, to them, feels equally incorrect. Now, their style at formal events leans slightly towards the religious side, but they hope to see changes in the gendered stylistic expectations at Harvard’s formal events in the future.

Treasure (she/they, ’22) is a sophisticated and playful sculptor of her own thrifted, vintage, colorblocked style. She’s drawn to 70s and 80s style because she loves funk and soul music, and because of her mother’s influence on her wardrobe. High school Treasure had a shaved head, and she was drawn to oversized graphic tees, cargos, sweats, and sneakers. Embracing masculinity allowed her to create distance from the hegemonic white femininity she saw from the girls at her high school, but as her style has developed, she’s found new ways to display femininity in her presentation through Y2K aesthetics. Y2K fashion is similarly vibrant to 70s fashion, but it incorporates more metallics, cut-outs, and flares. Plus, it’s sexy. Now, Treasure’s style embodies “the feeling of a sweaty night out in the city adorned with fur, heels, mini skirts, mesh tops, and photo-shoot ready hair and makeup.” She likes to feel like a rockstar.

Each of the people profiled above used black in their wardrobe in different ways. Halle’s style is very pink-centric, but most of their clothes are still black, because, as they say, “black has an edge/punch that the other colors just don’t have the same way, and you can feel it even when black is styled with other stuff.” For Jaida, wearing black is about sleekness and comfort, and about the convenience of not having to color-coordinate their outfits. Treasure sees black as the epitome of sophistication. She wears it to convey a sense of seriousness, to elevate her sex appeal, or to draw attention to her face, hair, or a colorful statement piece.

I have so much admiration for the beauty, glamor, and uniqueness of the three people above. Their clothing choices reflect an admirable degree of authenticity and confidence that my eighth grade self could only hope to embody.

Onyx E. Ewa ’24 is an Art, Film, and Visual Studies concentrator in Winthrop House. Their column “All Black Everything” appears on alternate Thursdays.