I am sure you are wondering what a Gayette is. Let me explain.
There was time before my razor-cut hair and collection of lesbian memes and neon nail polish that I had a hard time putting a stamp on my particular brand of queerness.
This is to say I couldn’t yet see myself.
I remember lying in my mother’s bed, breathing forcefully from my mouth, saying that I felt somewhat alone in this ROYGBIV world.
“What kind of gay am I?”
So, my mother, pushing a lock of hair from my face, told me that I am not a gay
— I am a gayette —
with all the unintentional subversion that our suburban home contained at that time.
In that moment, I was satisfied by her precarious balance of suffixes.
And I’m not alone in these feelings. That’s why a rad gang of writers and I started this magazine for femme queers.
Here at Gayettes we do not believe that femme refers to a gender.
It obliquely references gender but only in the sense that it was a thing that meant something in the past that we gently grit our teeth toward.
To be a femme is perverse, subversive, to be spoken.
It is the thin line of scum under your nails and the privacy with which you shape your pubic hair.
With this project, we hope to share with you the many representations of femmes, queerness, and the spectral shapes of those not yet imagined.
Though femme may not be your word and Gayettes not your experience, we invite you to read our stories and share what this might manifest.