In the 1980s, Arthur Severio was pioneering “gender-fluid fashion” on the streets of the French Quarter, though at the time he didn’t know it. That’s because back then, there wasn’t a term yet for his gender-defying style.
At the time, Severio, now 54, fashioned his hair into a shoulder-length bob, dyed what he describes as “red-red-red-red.” He would often wear skirts with men’s button-down shirts. Makeup, hoop earrings and leather were also popular at the time, influenced by the punk scene. People would sometimes approach Severio in a store and say, “Excuse me, ma’am,” only to correct themselves to “sir,” after he lifted his head.
“I was just me,” Severio says. “I wasn’t thinking of this, that, or the other.”
For decades, the mixing of traditionally gendered clothing and accessories was considered at best a niche style — and at worst, an excuse to target people with anti-LGBTQ abuse and harassment. For much of society it was a quirky signifier of punks, glam rockers and queer culture.
But over the last decade those conventional notions of the intersection of fashion and gender have increasingly been left behind. Now, gender-fluid fashion is trending with young pop culture icons — Billie Eilish, Jaden Smith, Ezra Miller and Harry Styles come to mind — as they appear in clothes at photo shoots, on stage, and in their everyday lives that defy conventional, gendered fashion.
Predictably, those trends have seeped into the lives of the non-rich and famous as well, particularly with younger people who have begun bringing gender-fluid styles into the mainstream.
While this fashion movement may simply appear to concern the arrangement of fabrics, it’s ultimately a fight for creative expression and identification. It enables freedom to make choices and is a platform for not just a fashion statement, but a political statement — and often one of acceptance.
Unsurprisingly, New Orleans has been at the forefront of gender-fluid fashion. After all, costuming here isn’t something only done on Halloween or Mardi Gras. On any given Tuesday, you’re as likely to see someone decked out in sequins and glitter as you are to see a three-piece suit. It’s a city well-known for artists, entertainers and musicians who showcase a melange of colorful, eclectic styles.
For example, Big Freedia, a gay man with a feminine stage persona and fluid pronouns, has become the de facto face of bounce music in the city.
Add that to the social-barrier-breaking nature of Carnival, and it’s no small wonder that the city naturally blurs the lines of gender in fashion. But various generations of New Orleanians have approached their own particular brand of gender-fluid fashion in completely different ways.
“We really need to pay homage to the people that came before me — our ancestors,” Severio says of gender-fluid dressing Baby Boomers and members of the Silent Generation.
As late as the mid-20th century, New Orleanians were jailed for even approaching a form of gender-fluid fashion as part of the broader persecution of the LGBT community. In 1952 on Halloween night, 21 men were arrested because “city ordinance 3121 prohibits a person from wearing clothing of the opposite sex in public,” according to a story in The Times-Picayune at the time. The only exception for that rule, the city claimed, was for Fat Tuesday.
“Back in the day, the girls wouldn’t even talk to the gays because they’d get clocked,” Severio says, referring to people outing others’ gender and sexual identity. “In that way, they would know their tea.”
The terms and gender identification from those days have evolved dramatically since the 1950s.
“I think that gender fluidity, even though it’s not really a new concept, is suddenly being talked about on a larger scale,” designer Melanie Reupke says. “And people don’t really know what to do with that.”
Reupke, 37, spent her childhood poring over fashion magazines, playing dress-up and drawing, so it was only natural that she was drawn to fashion. A few years ago, Reupke found herself at a fashion show where Daquine, a non-binary drag princess, announced that The Material Institute of New Orleans was accepting new students. She jumped at the opportunity and has been with the institute for a year and a half.
Reupke’s inaugural collection, Dreamweaver, drew inspiration from elegant, drapey materials, showcased with male or non-binary models. She drew inspiration from pop culture icons and people who embody a “genderless” vibe.
But she also made sure to keep it local by conversing with New Orleanians who operate outside of social norms.
“Why does elegance and grace and beauty have to be attributed to a specific gender?” Reupke says. “I don’t think it needs to. I want the clothes I design to be for everybody.”
With her own wardrobe, Reupke tends to sport thrift shop finds — not “super girly,” she says, but not quite “tomboy,” either. She gravitates toward old Boy Scout shirts paired with cargo shorts, although she sometimes favors vintage dresses.
Reupke describes her style as eclectic, choosing clothes based on what feels natural to her at a particular time — she always dresses for herself.
Sam Springston, a 33-year-old studio artist and drag queen, loves to dazzle in clothes that he selects and designs for himself. He describes his style as “trashionista meets body glover; a Kmart version of Leigh Bowery,” and isn’t subtle on his outfit details.
Springston doesn’t require a process when designing his outfits, per se. He simply thinks to dress as a person before anything else — for him, it’s more about maintaining an aesthetic.
Springston looks to more androgenous designers like Iris van Herpen, Manish Arora and Gareth Pugh.
One could say that Gen-Z is fortunate to have had the boundaries of gendered fashion lowered by the generations before them, but they’re also trailblazing on their own.
Niko Brown, a 15-year-old student at Lycee Francais de la Nouvelle-Orleans High School, draws her style from both goth and drag culture. She says it’s important to be able to outwardly project her interests and passions through clothing because it makes her feel complete. It also enables her to express herself in a platform she uses in her daily life.
Typically, Brown prefers to contrast a tight article of clothing with a loose article for a balanced look.
She suggests creating things that are “boxier” to hide the figure, noting some gender-fluid people aren’t completely comfortable with tight-fitting, revealing clothing.
And not all gender-fluid people present as gender-fluid. She says that designing gender-fluid and inclusive clothing calls for variance: it should include feminine, masculine, and gender-neutral aspects in its color palette, shape and overall design.
Walker Argao, a 16-year-old student, also at Lycee, says he wears whatever makes him comfortable. He doesn’t put much thought into his outfits but wears what he gravitates to in the moment.
Although he describes a good bit of the clothes he wears as leaning more toward the masculine side, he’s open to both clothes found in the female and male section. Fashion, for Argao, is such an everyday, basic way to show others another side of himself — without the need to participate in something grandiose.
“It’s pretty surprising to see Mardi Gras fashion,” Argao says. “Not in a bad way; I like the chaotic nature of Mardi Gras fashion. It makes me feel proud to live in a city with all these awesome crazy people who make these extravagant costumes.”
New Orleans’ drag culture and Mardi Gras in particular certainly have had such a large impact on gender-fluid fashion — across generations. Both have welcomed in the LGBTQ community and provide events and platforms for a diverse assortment of people to express themselves in unapologetic ways.
Like the Bourbon Street Awards, for example, which dishes out prizes to the best in leather, group, and drag, among other categories.
“This is kind of a mix between gender and sexuality,” Springston says. “Something along the lines of peacocks, male peacocks having the brightest feathers and like flying that plumage to flag what they’re looking for. And I feel like that’s something I resonate with in my fashion: trying to find that otherness, that flamboyancy in dress.”
Springston says he feels his drag helps him understand how he can push boundaries.
“Everyone has that right, and I think it’s really beautiful because you see so many people walking down the street dressed so differently,” Brown, the 16-year-old, says of New Orleans. “Clothing can be a mask — but it can also be a reflection of one’s inner self.”
Severio looks back to his time growing up in rural Louisiana in the 1970s and ’80s as a young, gay man — a particularly painful time as he was the brunt of judgment and bullying during his time in school.
“I wasn’t trying to be feminine,” Severio says. “I tried to be male, but there were even pictures of me in the yearbook where they labeled me as a girl.”
Severio thankfully had the guidance from an older generation in his big brother, a gay man 20 years his senior. His brother brought him to New Orleans, where he was introduced to drag culture and gay people, and he felt like there was a bit of salvation for him.
“It was such a different culture than what I grew up in,” Severio says. “There was one of everything … and that was so cool for me.”
Despite his hardship growing up, Severio says that he’s optimistic about the direction younger generations of New Orleanians are going in — not just in terms of their open sexuality, gender and fashion sense, but also in their sense of identity as humans.
“I’m hoping that with the internet, that their generation found freedom for themselves and acceptance,” Severio says. “I hope that the kids in the country don’t have to go through what I went through. Just be yourself and live out loud.”
