I accepted my admission to the University of Illinois through tears streaming down my face. Something that might shock you about me is that I don’t cry very often. I haven’t been good at allowing myself to cry since I was a younger boy, and I think it probably does stem from the fact that I cried a lot when I was a boy. Eventually, I reached that age when I was told I had to toughen up. So I did. I’m a generally reserved person in terms of how I actually feel about things, so if I’m hunched over sobbing…
I’m really fucking depressed. That was the feeling elicited by seeing orange and blue confetti on my MacBook screen, telling me I had been admitted to the College of Media. I had been gunning for Chicago. Originally, it was New York. Then my parents said the money wasn’t there. So it was DePaul. DePaul seemed promising at first. I was transferring from a year at community college, and they were giving me an eleven-thousand-dollar scholarship. Didn’t change the fact that I’d still be paying nearly forty-five thousand dollars my first year with an increasing tuition annually. My student loan debt would’ve been around 130,000 after my 3 years there. So I clicked accept and sat in the discomfort of knowing that, after years of patiently and impatiently waiting to move far, far away from the Midwest and rural towns… I was nowhere near closer to actually escaping.
Fast forward, I coped. I have gotten pretty good at coping with things. As such, I had to cope with Illinois. I had decided, sometime randomly, the months before I’d move into my dorm, that I would make something of it. I had to. I couldn’t stand another four years of the same bullshit I despised in my hometown. I wanted fashion. I wanted performance. I wanted excitement. So I drove into Champaign with a fire under my ass.
Very quickly, I found myself a rubber band, flinging it around campus. I had very good friends to guide me. Sam and Reagan essentially let me live on their living room couch for my first year at UIUC. The girls of Aphi brought me into their house for long night cram sessions. And though I’ve always been a very outgoing person, being around someone like Sam was very special. She’s fucking fearless, and one of the people I admire most. We did a lot together. We sprinted to see Kendall Jenner on her 818 Tour at Joe's. We read Harry Potter in her bed one night, still drunk as hell. One night, I cooked Grace Patterson gluten-free pasta, once again… drunk as hell. I also force-fed those girls Addison Rae, when she was still just the EP.
I also had friends from home. My friends Katelyn, Francesca, and Emily were big pillars for me to stand on. And though I knew them upon transferring in, I knew virtually no one when I first drove into the college town I now know like the back of my hand. I laugh now at the fact that I hated this school when I accepted my admission. Partially only because it’s not me now. And for the simple fact that I can see that my fears of submission were all that: Fear.
can see that my fears of submission were all that: Fear.
Fashion became even more integral to me when I moved here. I became obsessed with studying it in my first year, spending the entire winter educating myself on every single archival collection of every major house… in between seasonal depression episodes and the hatred I had for a dorm room.
In my second year, my fashion further tiptoed toward fruition. I could feel a genuine shift as Brat entered the culture. We don’t talk enough about how Brat catapulted gay culture into mainstream just as much as the 2020 woke era did. Humor typically assigned to queer groups was now trickling into straight men. Now you have fucking men saying, “clock it” (which actually comes from black ballroom, not the white homosexuals). As such, I felt hungry to ride with this wave.
I wore thrifted studded tank tops, leather cropped jackets and pants, brat-green f*g shirts, etc. I took my eyebrows off for the first time. Then Trump was elected. I had spent the previous few months newly exploring Urbana after having ignored it the prior year. The first gay-centric house show had begun hosting, playing music I liked. I met someone named Cheese. Probably the funniest being to walk on this planet. I mingled with DJs, many of whom I’m still friends with to this day. I made out on a dancefloor. A few times.
Then Trump got elected, and everything shifted. I genuinely felt inhumane the day after the election. I left my room at two in the afternoon. I hadn’t eaten anything but red wine the night before. I dragged myself to Mad Goat for a latte with my roommates. I was genuinely speechless. Then it was my birthday. I painted a streak of teal across my eyes, and some freshman in the Joe’s line asked me, “Why are you blue?” She was laughing at me, as were her friends. Little does she know that was a vocal stim for the preceding five months. We still quote that icon.
Because why was he blue?
I went to New York for the first time, and all I can say is I’m racing to get back. After New York, I fell into a very deep depressive episode upon my return to UIUC. I wasn’t joking with that Instagram story. I hated my life for a month. When I came back from winter break and felt a similar feeling of inclination, I felt the same way I had before I moved into my dorm all that time ago. Like I had to make something of this fucked up scenario.
I channeled everything I had into these outfits. I’d go out for the outfit more than anything else. It began with the mask and red diamond fixture. I remember, even at the Urbana house show, people were suddenly intrigued by me in a way they hadn’t been before. Granted, I’m an attention whore, so I was earning attention just for being a queer in the Champaign bars, but this was a different and new feeling of recognition.
Then came the Slavic winter look. I had no eyebrows, a matching black-fur hat, and black-fur trim on my wrists. I went to the gay house show that night, and people loved the outfit. Then I wore a sailor-inspired outfit, inspired by Jean Paul Gaultier, to a friend’s birthday party. Then, on my friend Lar’s birthday (I asked him if I could wear it, I’m not the fajita friend), I painted my face pale white, blushed my cheeks, and put a tulle neck piece over a white lace corset. With a folding fan, it was an ode to Rococo fashion. I went to Joe’s dressed like this, and genuinely, no one said a word to me. Unless it was nice. Looking back, I think I might have really stumped the boys that night because, genuinely, they just avoided me.
Subsequently, I continued learning to push what I was comfortable with. I wore silver chain tops, did smeared makeup for shoots, dyed my hair, and rubbed my waterline raw with eyeliner. Then came the polka-dot incident. Three boys famously started humping me as a joke and then said they’d punch me. This was genuinely the tamest outfit I had worn that semester, but whatever. In the end, however, this just made me want to be more provocative.
Then I made a pink triangle headpiece to pay homage to Raja Gemini, a famous drag queen. The outfit got fifty thousand views on Instagram, and Raja reposted it and commented. Big moment for Drew. I kept pushing—I wore assless chaps to Kams (LMAO), I wore a sheer mask over my eyes that coincided with an ode to Gaga. And Zoe and I wore hyperpigmented wigs to cherish Sweet Charity, a very beautiful film from the sixties.
I ended the semester on a high note, and then resumed in August in Paris. If I could change anything about my entire time here and there, I’d be more present. Allow myself to really see things. I treated Paris like a job. I went there with the intent of a performance. And I’m so fucking extra because, genuinely, I did not think I was going to scream with Addison, but it was so fucking funny. And reassurance, I was doing something correctly because they asked me to do it because of the outfit I designed.
It was because of that outfit and that scream that the designers I interned for in Paris found me and offered me my internship. I ran around Paris delivering fabrics, picking up orders, attending shoots, and working with models. It was life-changing. I spent every morning curating an outfit to post, but also to use as armor as I braced an entirely new city, much of the time, on my own.
I clubbed a lot in Paris. I’ve gone twice alone, and that’s genuinely astonishing to some people. I don’t know, I start dancing with girls, and we make friends. I recommend that everyone go out on their own at least once in their twenties. It’s a good ego adjustment. If you rely solely on the people you know and can’t make do in a setting where you are alone with your instincts, you won’t do well in the world. Just my opinion.
I was famously lifted up into the VIP section at one of the most famous gay clubs in Paris by these two French boys. Famously, I was a degenerate that evening. Kiss kiss. I got into Madonna while at Illinois, and everyone knows I love her. But I don’t often express that so much of her aura and presence is one of reassurance and understanding of the idea of shame. And how it cannot dictate your life.
I don’t hold shame. I haven’t for a long time. It’s something that came with me to UIUC, but also something I am leaving without. I encourage all queer people at this school to do the same. It’s not worth fighting with yourself when so many people are already throwing punches anyway. I also caught Elton John’s team’s eye several times while I was considered to win a fashion competition he was hosting in honor of Aids Research and Funding. We raised somewhere around three thousand dollars on my behalf for the charity, which I’m very proud of.
And I returned from Paris and finished school. I calmed down a bit this semester. I was very tired. Paris sort of took the wind out of me. I hardly slept, and as I said, I treated it like a job opportunity. I’m very proud of my time at Illinois, and to extend on a frequent question I get when I am out (I think I follow you on Instagram), this would be my mantra.
To echo previous sentiments, there is space for you at this school. There is space for every facet of you. Whether you are Queer, Trans, Black, Latin, Asian, a woman, etc. Straight men will try to make this message appear corny, but it’s important to identify that facets of who we have been consistently policed, especially in this midwestern echo chamber. People treat cringe like a plague despite it being a faux concept altogether. Wear what you want, when you want… as long as it makes you feel more like you. And especially if you’re a queer person coming into this campus still, please just give yourself time. I promise, more than anything, that there is space for you, and that there are people somewhere who will understand you and cherish you.
Okay. Onto the hot takes.
“Not a question but ur confidence and self-expression is incredibly inspiring.”
That’s very nice. All I can say about this is that I wouldn’t want to live if I didn’t live the way that I do. And I think that’s beautiful.
“gayest and straightest places on campus?”
The gayest place is definitely… my apartment or… a frat house? And the straightest place on campus is Kams. I will not elaborate.
“I refuse to ever set foot in grainger library.”
I don’t blame you.
“We’re definitely in a college bubble likeeee we’re playing adult over there.”
Job market brutalizing fresh-faced adults, I agree. Also, gas is almost five dollars. Let’s not.
“opinion on CFE?”
CFE is amazing for those on campus interested in fashion. That said, it’s not entirely necessary to be in fashion. I walked twice, and then didn’t. I still rode for fashion. It depends on your perspective: whether you want to lead your own vision or be part of a collective. Both are great answers. Recent CFE was fucking amazing too, just to mention. Jenna Sissom’s outfit was absolutely breathtaking.
“Lincoln Hall had the best bathroom on campus, CIF at a close second.”
I don’t use the bathroom that often, so I can’t comment on this. It’s a medical miracle I haven’t gotten a UTI yet.
“Thoughts on fat sandwich.”
Banana bread is better. But go order the Sammy K, please… she’s my friend.
“Most valuable lesson learned from campus? (Educationally or in general)”
That there are no spare keys to your fantasy. Meaning that what you see in this world is entirely your own, and how you express yourself is exclusive to you. Embrace that power you hold.
“Thoughts on Greek Life?”
Love a lot of the sorority girls. Most of the frat men piss me off. Some of you are shorter than I am. Let’s talk about it.
“Most do not invest enough time or energy into exploring cu culture.”
Okay, I agree, but I also understand the other side because Champaign-Urbana will never be an urban setting. But much love to both towns.
“would you recc study abroad?”
Yes. Paris specifically. My friend Sara also loved Barcelona. And Italy is beautiful, my friend Franchie was there. And Vienna is amazing too. Ecaterina was there at the same time I was in Paris. Just go, though. It changes your life perception.
“tips for better confidence.”
Pretend.
“Where to shop for cute clothes gay boy edition.”
I like Uniqlo for some basics. I thrift a lot. I like Salt Murphey. Berksha. If you’re in Paris, Kiloshop. Goodwill. I also have Depop, but I have a three-star rating right now because someone accused me of scamming them. It was really dramatic.
“Is this campus safe for me? I just accepted my admissions and I’m stressed cuz I’m trans.”
I wish I could hold your hand and tell you what I said previously. I would be careful about the campus bars, but if you want to go, don’t let dumb bitches stop you. House shows will embrace you. The fashion scene will open its arms for you. Just be careful, my love. Wishing you the best four years.
“Alcoholism is way too normalized at this school…”
Lowkey agree. I love drinking as much as the next person. However, I have seen many people go out for over half the week every week. Just like… don’t drink on a Sunday. And maybe no Wednesdays either… but also I was drunk on a Wednesday last week, so…
“It feels impossible to find a queer/trans/ally friend group on this campus.”
Please take my advice and go to the house shows, even if it’s on your own. Go dance next to somebody. Compliment something about them. If you’re anxious, just be honest. One time, in London, I went to Heaven, this gay club, on my own because my friends had fallen asleep in the Uber home from dinner. I went up to these girls, danced for a song, and then they asked where my friends were, and I told them that they had fallen asleep. They then stayed with me the entire night. I still text with the girls, and we like each other’s Instagram stories.
“those who treat fabric as a veil to hide behind belong with the aristocratic fashion, in the past.”
Very profound. I wonder, though, that viewing fashion as armor isn’t as inherently bad as we might see. I’ve done it both ways. We’ve seen how I like to show skin, no shade.
“worst experience here as a queer.”
Having three frat men tell me they could kill me in a corner, alone, at the Red Lion.
“What’s your order for a drink?”
Shot of vodka, water chaser. Vodka-water-lime. Red Wine and Diet Coke if I’m at a real bar.
“fav outfit you wore to the bars?”
Probably the Rococo.
“rank the bars.”
Red Lion, number one. Joe’s number two. Kam’s on the floor of hell. No shade. I had fun at Kams like twice this semester, it was kind of insane.
“The real cost of Michael Decoste: What campus celebrities truly represent.”
I think campus celebrities give colleges life, but I also get weary because sometimes celebrity is given out maliciously.
“The university’s subtle approach at turning a blind eye 2 sexual violence on campus.”
Yeah, let’s talk about it. We have a horrible sexual assault and rape statistic going on currently, and people just sort of ignore it. Very frustrating. Consent is fucking necessary, and if you aren’t getting it, you should probably fall face-first into cement.
Thank you, UIUC, for a platform to stand. Never were you necessarily my legs, nor a crutch. But you were grounded to stand on. Thank you to my friends. And thank you to The Fashion Network for the opportunity to write on their behalf for the past few years. Love y’all.