The scene: Public High School, 10th grade.
The year: 1992.
The place: West of UGH and North of gott im himmel.

Sometimes if I was really lucky and could get a ride with some charitable driving upperclassman, I would abandon any pretense of being interested in my future and would tag along to Chicago. Chicago! Where the streets were paved with perverts and decent bagel shops! I used to drive 90 minutes to buy fishnets. NINETY MINUTES. And that was if traffic was cooperating. In this city the ragman comes along three times a week with his distinctive cry, “DILDOS! PORN! FISHNETS! OTHER THINGS THAT WOULD MAKE GRANNY SAD!” There’s none of this 90-minute perv-commute business.

I don’t remember who I was with or what the circumstances were, exactly, but I very excitedly bought a pink triangle button to pin onto my coat. This was it! I was going to take a stand! I was going to be super activist girl and drag my high school into the 20th century.

I walked in the next day and thought that all sound would stop and everyone would turn and look at me. I would be under a spotlight, that was it, the line would be crossed and there would be no turning back.

Instead, there was a whole lot of nothing. No one knew what it meant. Even kids who I suspected were gay, and were teased for being so stared at it blankly. It blended it with all my other rock buttons and rude slogans. The sign is meaningless if no one can read it.

I think that was probably the beginning of me realizing I didn’t really have to broadcast anything about myself. I didn’t have to label myself or hang a banner. It’s very liberating to realize that most people don’t care, or conversely, it doesn’t matter what people think the truth is or isn’t. I wish I still had that pin.