I pick a men’s medium off the rack, hoping my double-D chest—once tucked tightly behind a sports bra, of course—will fit. I might have to safety pin the button gap, I muse. But that’s OK. I buy the shirt and take it home to my closet to hang alongside similar men’s shirts sporting everything from little bowls of guacamole to bright yellow bananas against a brilliant teal background. This is my queer closet.
Read it here.