I’m KJ—the queer human behind this brand.

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I’m 39, living in Canada, and only recently have I fully stepped into my true masc-presenting, queer self.

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Growing up in the 90s, “gay” and “lesbian” were still whispered words. People stayed hidden because being out came with very real consequences. So, I hid too— from my family, my friends, and especially from the loud, aggressive jock boys at school. The truth is, people probably knew before I did. But I was determined to keep it tucked away until graduation, when I could finally leave and start fresh.

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What we don’t realize at that age is how deeply hiding shapes us. The message was clear: who I am is not acceptable. So I learned to shrink. To believe I was bad, different, less than. Decades later, I’m still unlearning those lies.

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I made it through high school, but then came my twenties—the “fitting in” years. I dressed femme, wore the scarves, let my hair down. None of it felt like me, but it was safer. I told myself I didn’t want to look “too gay.” I avoided the “stereotypical lesbian look”—short hair, men’s clothes—without realizing I was burying my own authenticity just to make others comfortable. For years, I muted myself to stay inside the circle.

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Two years ago, I finally did the thing I had been holding back from my whole life—I chopped all my hair off. There’s something about getting older that shifts your perspective; you stop caring so much about what everyone else thinks. That moment was both freeing and affirming in a way I can hardly put into words. For the first time, the outside finally matched the inside.

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I do sometimes wish I had given myself that gift sooner, but I also extend myself grace. Years of conditioning had taught me to hide, to compromise, to wait. Letting go of that and stepping fully into myself has been one of the biggest shifts of my life. Today, I show up as the realest version of me—and I’m proud. That’s big.

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The thing is, every queer journey is different, but also strangely familiar. So many of us share stories of shame, silence, hiding, and the long climb back to ourselves. Too often we keep quiet, afraid to be vulnerable. But I believe when we tell our truths—about identity, microaggressions, resistance, growth—we build connection. We build strength. We build community.

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This brand is part of my way of doing that. My hope is that these designs spark conversations, create visibility, and connect us to one another. That together, we use clothing not just to wear our pride, but to share our stories and push for lasting change—for ourselves, and for the next generation.