The room was quiet, apart from the hum of a fan in the corner. She sat on the floor, staring at the blank room in front of her. She was caught in a loop of thoughts, like a conversation with herself.

“Welcome,” she heard herself say.

“Who’s the person in bold?” The thought that came after the welcome, almost as if it were spoken by someone else. She couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of it, of interviewing herself in her own mind. But it wasn’t entirely absurd. In a world that felt more isolating than ever, she’d begun to rationalize the thoughts, trying to make sense of things as they came.

“So I’m talking to myself now?” she thought. After all, feeling shame could often feel like being watched, like there were eyes on you, consuming you. But then again, feeling shameless wasn’t all that different—those same eyes, still watching, but the emotion behind it shifted into confidence.

“Is it everyone else’s eyes that makes this feeling more intense, or is it something I’m doing to myself?” The question lingered. She wasn’t sure. But if eyes were on her, she decided, she looked good right now. She wanted to hold on to that feeling, she could wear that feeling every day. 

“I’d want something so fitted it could conceal my identity while drawing you in, like leather,” thinking out loud now. She pictured it clearly: tight and piercing. Pants that could hide a knife underneath, but all anyone would see were her thighs. The tighter the clothes, the more androgynous she felt. She could almost feel the seams of the leather, tight enough to leave marks on her skin.

“That would be your uniform? And you’d wear it every day?” She could almost hear the question, as if posed by another voice.

“Yes,” she answered herself quietly. “And if someone pulled the right—or wrong—zipper, they’d find either pleasure or violence. So they’d better move slowly.”

She nodded, as if satisfied with the conclusion. Yes, that was what she’d wear, especially in this moment, as the world around us teeters on the edge of collapse. But revealing something new.

show text by vanessa barros andrade