I didn’t come here to be controversial.
I came here to tell the fucking truth.
Every time I post something about queer punks, skinheads, boots, leather, or god forbid — white laces — someone shows up in the comments section like I’ve lit a cross on fire. And listen, I get it. We live in a world where fascists love to play dress-up in the same outfits we bled and danced and fucked in.
But make no mistake — the problem isn’t me reclaiming it.
The problem is you forgetting who had it first.
Reclaiming What Was Ours
Let’s talk about subcultures — and how queers built, shaped, and thrived in the very spaces now smeared by hate groups.
Let’s talk about punk, skinhead, leather, fetish, rave, and military aesthetics, and how every one of those scenes has roots that are Black, brown, queer, radical, and liberating.
And how every single one of them has been hijacked — by the same bootlickers and bigots who couldn’t handle the power we made look so damn good.
Skinheads
No, they didn’t start as Nazis.
The original skinhead scene was multiracial, working class, and fueled by reggae and ska. It was about resistance and pride — not supremacy. But the far-right swooped in during the ‘80s, turned the boots and braces into hatewear, and the world swallowed the lie whole.
Now, queer skinheads — many of them BIPOC — are reclaiming that look. Reclaiming the space. Reclaiming the truth.
White laces, shaved heads, and defiant love for your chosen family? That’s not hate. That’s healing.
Punk
Punk was never clean, never safe, and never straight.
The early punk scene was full of queer rage, DIY survival, and middle fingers to every system designed to erase us. Queer punks created zines, slept in squats, threw shows in basements, and survived off nothing but community and bad decisions.
Fast-forward, and now you’ve got far-right “punk” bands vomiting nationalist garbage while dressing like the fags they hate.
Nah. We’re not letting them keep it.
From queercore to trans hardcore collectives, we’re screaming louder, loving harder, and reminding them that punk will always belong to the freaks.
Fetish, Rubber & Leather Culture
Let’s be very fucking clear: the leather scene is queer to its core. Always has been.
It came out of post-WWII gay men who returned home and built something sacred out of all that repressed masculinity. They took biker culture and turned it into a brotherhood of boots, studs, and sweat. Leather wasn’t just a fashion choice — it was a declaration. I exist. I desire. I am dangerous. And I’m not sorry for any of it.
But fascists, being the unoriginal bastards they are, saw the power in that aesthetic and tried to twist it. They wore the caps, the tall boots, the military gear — not because they understood it, but because they wanted to imitate the dominance without the vulnerability. They wanted the look without the love.
And now? You’ve got Nazis in jodhpurs trying to cosplay as something they would’ve beaten in a bar in 1978.
Meanwhile, the real leather scene — the one rooted in queer survival, mutual care, power exchange, and sex that doesn’t flinch — is still alive. Still fucking. Still thriving. You’ll find it in the backrooms of Berlin. In the dungeon nights of Chicago. At Folsom. At Inferno. At the hole-in-the-wall bars where someone will look you in the eye and ask, “Sir or boy?” and actually mean it.
Rubber too. Once dismissed as “too freaky,” it’s become a full-on queer uniform of play and pride. We made it ours. Latex harnesses, gas masks, military play — all retooled into kink that confronts shame and laughs in its face.
And don’t even get me started on boots.
We don’t wear them to look tough. We wear them because they remind us of everyone we’ve buried and everyone we’ve kissed. They are sacred. They are armor. They are ritual.
Rave & EDM Culture
Peace, love, unity, respect — PLUR — was the original mantra of rave culture. The dance floor was sanctuary. The beat was church. And for queers — especially queer people of color — the rave was home.
But like vultures to a corpse, the alt-right found their way in, pushing nationalist symbols into psytrance scenes and twisting techno aesthetics into cold, militaristic propaganda.
And what did we do?
We fought back with sweaty bodies, open arms, and pounding bass. We made dancefloors political again. We made queer raves a thing. We threw parties that banned fascists at the door and raised trans flags from the speakers.
This Isn’t About Being Edgy — It’s About Education
I’m not writing this shit to piss people off.
I’m writing it because people forget — or were never taught — that queers have always existed in these subcultures. That we were the ones building them while the world was too busy pretending we didn’t exist.
The skinhead with white laces isn’t always a Nazi.
The punk in a camo jacket isn’t always a bootlicker.
The guy in the leather cap at the bar isn’t your enemy.
Sometimes he’s the reason you even have a safe space to drink.
Final Thought: Ask Better Questions
So before you come at me in the comments about “what something looks like,” maybe ask why it looks that way now — and who stole it in the first place. Ask why queer people constantly have to defend ourselves for wearing the outfits we helped create.
I’m not interested in being safe. I’m interested in being right.
And I’m not here to start fires — I’m here to burn down bullshit.
With peace. With love. With friendship. With unity.
And sometimes, with white fucking laces.
