For queer individuals, channeling their identities through personal style is a deeply intuitive experience that is constantly evolving with their authentic selves. This connection between inner identity and outward presentation becomes a powerful tool for navigating a world limited to and shaped by binaries. Fashion serves a purpose beyond aesthetics in the lives of LGBTQIA+, enabling them to present themselves in a way which affirms their identities: that are chosen and not imposed by societal expectations, or shaped by stereotypical media representation. In the absence of representation, lesbians face the dual challenge of defying traditional gender norms and reclaiming visibility in a world that frequently marginalises their experiences.
On Lesbian Visibility Day, we speak to urban lesbians in India who express their identity through fashion and personal style. Prarthana Prasad, Nikita Prakash, Sayantika Majumder and Anisha Sharma offer a glimpse into their journeys of queerness, self-expression and embracing their authentic selves.
The violence of societal expectations on self-expression
Growing up queer in India often involves encountering societal expectations around feminine presentation that are anything but subtle. “I think it was anything but subtle and it would have taken the opacity of a brick wall to not notice it,” says content creator Prarthana Prasad, also known by her moniker Short Haired Brown Queer. ” It was a very adult thing that I had to understand as a child of 3 or 4 years. The way I wanted to naturally express myself as a young girl was at war with the societal expectations of how a girl should look,” the 26-year-old recalls.
For Prasad, this early conflict between her natural self-expression and prescribed norms was a defining experience, fostering a persistent sense of being different. “It severely impacted my sense of self and made me feel like I was constantly different and sticking out like a sore thumb everywhere I went. That feeling stays with me to this day,” she observes.
Prarthana Prasad is most comfortable wearing three piece suits
In her teenage years, the pressures of societal acceptance coerced Prasad to briefly embrace stereotypical femininity. However, this conformity proved deeply uncomfortable. Prasad admits, “I did try to embrace these stereotypically feminine gender expressions when I was a teenager… But once I did and earned familial and peer acceptance, I realised how severely uncomfortable I felt. I was unable to reconcile the reality of my long hair with my desire for shorter hair.”
While Prasad`s struggle involved expressing her masculine-leaning fashion, Nikita Prakash`s experience was marked by rigid categorisation within the LGBTQIA+ community. A masc-leaning lesbian, Prakash (also known as Nick) is a marketer, content creator and drag king Bloody Kameena. Seemingly small acts like getting her eyebrows done in college were met with gendered comments. “I did my eyebrows for the first time and knew I would get comments like aaj to ladki lag rahi hai (you are looking like a girl today). I chose to wear sunglasses for a whole week and lied about having conjunctivitis,” she recollects.
Even within community spaces that should ideally be more accepting, the 35-year-old felt a pressure to fit into pre-defined boxes which stifled early attempts at exploring different styles. “When I was first introduced to the community, there was a split between butch, androgynous, and femme, and you were almost always boxed into these three categories. How could I try being feminine being a butch,” she recalls, facing judgment for even trying on a skirt.
You don’t look like a lesbian
“If I had a rupee for every time I was told I don’t look like a lesbian, I could retire!,” says copywriter, stylist, and content creator, Sayantika Majumder. At 34, she lives in Bengaluru with her partner Nick but believes that her queer awakening was delayed in part due to fashion. “When I look back at why I was a late bloomer (came out) at 24, I suspect fashion played a huge role. Feeling different from the stereotypical image of lesbians caused a lot of cognitive dissonance, and the pressure to visually align with a perceived norm delayed self-acceptance,” remembers Majumder.
(L) Nick, styled by Sayantika, all dressed up to perform; (R) Sayantika Majumder wants to see lesbians in India experiment with fashion
To conform, she briefly adopted a more masculine style, cutting her hair and buying plaid shirts. However, it took years to accept her femme way of expression. “Even within the community, my femme presentation led to accusations of being straight passing. That kind of labelling is alienating,” Majumder shares, questioning, “I often ask what is a lesbian look? I like wearing pantsuits and dresses. I’m not seen as queer enough, Nick is seen as too queer.”
Mirroring the challenges faced by others navigating their queer identities in India, media professional and Mumbai native Anisha Sharma`s journey of understanding herself was gradual. “Being plus size I never really looked at fashion as a way of expressing my identity,” she confesses. Studying in the UK exposed her to a wider range of self-expression. Upon returning to India, her online search for types of lesbians revealed overwhelming and rigid categories like butch and chapstick. “When I came back, I googled ‘am I a lesbian’, and ‘what kind of lesbian’. It intimidated me, do I need to ascribe to only one type of clothing? I can wear dupattas one day and look like Circuit from Munnabhai the next day. It was off-putting for me because I felt I did not fit anywhere,” says Sharma.
Early attempts to fit in involved trying to appear masculine by wearing ties, but her inherent leaning towards femme clothing was ever-present. “With lesbian women, who we date also depends on fashion which takes away the individuality of a person. Most butch adjacent women wanted to date femme adjacent, being a shy person, I did not want that attention,” she tells us. Even as someone comfortable with being femme, Sharma faced unexpected judgment, with a crush once telling her she was too femme. This, coupled with insecurities about her size, made her question her presentation. “I was shocked. I have been insecure about my size, but now I grew worried that me being femme-adjacent was something that needed to be navigated. Fashion was never a deal breaker, but it happens so much in our community,” Sharma states matter-of-factly.
The evolving landscape of personal style
Why do LGBTQIA+ people have such a flair for fashion? Coming to terms with their queer identity often inspires individuals to adopt a more authentic personal style.
For Prasad, reclaiming childhood preferences for a less feminine style involved a conscious choice of clothing that affirmed her inner sense of self. “I finally found the courage to embrace my true sense of expression at 21 and went back to looking like a boy. My father bought me a lovely pair of black leather brogue from a men’s shoe shop that I’ve cherished for over 7 years,” she tells us animatedly. For Prasad, this wasn`t about imitation but genuine self-expression. “I found it hard to look stereotypically man-like for a long time. But I realised that I’m not trying to masquerade as a man. I’m just trying to look like myself. Masculinity and masculine gender expression do not belong only to men,” she affirms.
Nick`s experience mirrors this movement towards authenticity. Initially feeling constrained by the butch label, her style evolved as self-acceptance deepened. “Performing drag pushed the boundaries of what I was supposed to dress like. I’ve started enjoying make-up and have an elaborate kit for drag. I am not stuck to one end of the spectrum, today, I wear what I feel without worrying about fitting in. I recently wore a long skirt and corset, which 10-year-old me could never imagine. It feels great when you get an appreciation for being yourself,” she proclaims.
In addition to being mediums of self-expression, clothes can also be deeply sentimental heirlooms. “For every daughter wearing her mother’s saree is a rite of passage, but I had missed out on it. My mom has always supported me in my clothing choices but still, she was mildly disappointed that she couldn’t pass on her sarees to me,” shares Nick. The journey of reclaiming her style even extended to reimagining traditional garments, tailoring them to align with her masculine expression. “I reimagined her saree as a suit that perfectly matched my style. To complete the look, I even wore her gold jewellery. My mom was overjoyed. Cis-het girls can inherit their mom’s jewellery and clothes, but we had to get creative,” poses Nick.
Nick donning a suit made out of her mother`s saree
For Majumder, fashion is deeply intertwined with her identity and a means of challenging rigid norms. Majumder’s embrace of her femme identity was a gradual but resolute step towards authenticity. Fashion became a vital tool in this process, extending beyond her wardrobe. “Experimenting with fashion, including styling Nick for drag, became a form of art and a way to navigate and express my true self. We wanted to challenge the expectation that drag kings must simply dress like straight men. Why can’t drag kings be glam icons?” she shares. Her creation of an LED leather jacket with a ‘Shahenshah’ vibe for Nick’s drag performances directly counters the idea of basic male expression.
Majumder questions why lesbians aren’t more prominent in challenging fashion norms, noting the invisibility of femmes and the basic stereotypes assigned to butches. The stylist critiques the tendency to stick to a binary in fashion, lamenting the lost fluidity. “Skirts have been worn by men traditionally for centuries, why do we assign gender to garments? Do the clothes take away from my identity?” Ultimately, for her, fashion is a form of creative expression and a way to assert her visibility: “I want people to know that lesbians also do fashion, It’s not just for the gays.”
For Sharma, who believes she has moved well beyond the uncertain girl who googled 14 years ago about the kinds of lesbians, the journey has been about increasing self-comfort and building confidence. “During my college, we had an Oscars-themed farewell. I did not feel like wearing a gown, so I opted for a suit. I wanted to wear a statement piece (top hat), and I felt hot. I remember clearly how great it felt, in an attempt to be comfortable, I ended up standing out. Nobody questioned me, I believe my confidence was apparent to everyone”
During Covid, I chopped off my long curly hair opting for a pixie cut (super short). It has been the most liberating choice. It made me 100 times more confident in my life. I am done with that phase of my life where I wanted to fit into societal expectations. I will wear make-up, saris, and suits—all of it. Queers are hungry to explore their identity and show that to the world. How wonderful a feeling it is where confidence and expression come together to make you feel so good on a day-to-day basis- it is unparalleled,” says Sharma resolutely.
Visibility, safety and subtle resistance amid the absence of representation
When asked about the representation of lesbians in mainstream media, Sharma states starkly, “None. Where is it? What is there to even talk about when it barely exists?” The queer awakening and journey of lesbians in India is often impacted by a striking absence of nuanced representation in mainstream media and fashion. Prasad echoes the sentiment and notes the relative invisibility of butch lesbians. “Creators think they are feeding into a stereotype and therefore actively avoid portraying any butch lesbian or masculine-looking queer women. But this is taking away sorely needed butch lesbian representation,” she muses.
This absence of representation fuels limiting butch/femme binaries, preventing exploration of the full spectrum of queer expression, as Nick points out, “The masculine and femme presentation is a spectrum, because of stereotypes many people don’t get to explore the width and breadth of our expressions.”
Navigating this landscape involves conscious choices around safety and visibility. Prasad finds familial and religious settings challenging, where her masculine presentation can clash with traditional norms. “Religious settings are especially hard to navigate looking the way I do. I worry a temple would simply not allow me to enter since any woman wearing Western wear is frowned upon in India, especially in traditional settings. There is very little scope to appear Indian and masculine for a woman,” she says. Interestingly, she also admits how her overtly masculine appearance sometimes paradoxically offers a degree of safety. Beyond navigating physical spaces, Nick often encounters issues with repeated misgendering. Being referred to as ‘sir’ prompted a subtle pushback, she started jokingly calling the person who did it ‘madam.’
Despite these challenges, a powerful hunger for authentic self-expression persists. Prasad’s journey back to her childhood style exemplifies this drive. Nick and Majumder’s experimentation through drag and reclamation of cultural traditions underlines a creative defiance of norms, while Sharma’s journey emphasises the paramount importance of personal comfort and self-acceptance over external validation. “It`s been 14 years since I first googled, I still do not fit into rigid categories by choice, but today I am most confident,” she eloquently states. Similar to these individual acts of self-definition, lesbians in India, while often at the margins, collectively exist in their diverse presentation and continue to redefine the landscape of style and identity, forging their visibility.
