Manifest Yourself

We are strong, resilient, and creative – Learn how to use these talents in communication

When I first came out as queer, many doors closed. My job disappeared, friendships faded, and family ties got strained. But in the cracks of all that loss, something powerful began to grow. I found a community that saw me—not who I was expected to be, but who I truly am. That community became my chosen family. Through them, I learned that communication—our words, our images, our stories—isn’t just expression. It’s survival. It’s rebellion. It’s love.

I deeply believe it’s time to redefine how we, as queers, communicate. We need to raise our game in three crucial ways: quality, authenticity, and effectiveness. Not because we need to impress anyone, but because we must challenge norms, make stronger connections, and build platforms where our voices can’t be ignored. With my background in journalism, communication, and years of real-life experience, I want to give that knowledge back—to the community that has embraced me, that is my family.

This post dives into how we can write, visualize, and publish our queerness, our resistance, and our immense creative power through Queer Communication—in words, images, zine with shared narratives that build us up and shake the world up.

A Short History: From Silence to Expression

For decades, queers were spoken about, not with. Our voices were erased, distorted, or ridiculed. We were reduced to stereotypes—tragic, sinful, comic relief. But from underground newspapers and zines to the bold online activism of today, we’re turning that silence into stories.

Think of the AIDS crisis in the ‘80s and ‘90s: queer activists used posters, photography, and urgent public writing to demand visibility and dignity. They didn’t wait for permission; they took the stage. That same energy still burns today—whether we’re countering anti-trans rhetoric, documenting queer lives under repressive regimes, or simply posting selfies that say “I exist, and I’m not ashamed.”

Queer Communication is the continuation of that legacy—honest, unfiltered, unapologetic, but also empathetic, creative, and inclusive.

Writing Our Way Forward

Writing is our tool of resistance. It’s where our voices gather power, precision, and poetry. Whether you’re writing for the press, social media, journalism, or activism, it’s not just what you say but how, why, where and when.

→ Writing for Press
When I write press releases or articles, I make sure they fit our queer culture. Instead of adapting to “acceptable” narratives, I center queer perspectives as the default. For example, when covering Pride events, I focus on the grassroots organizers, the older queers, the HIV+ activists—not just the glitter and the corporations. The mainstream media often still wants sanitized stories; we can push back by offering the raw truth with clarity and emotion.

→ Writing for Social Media
Social media can be a trap of trends and algorithms, but also a lifeline. Authenticity stands out more than perfection. A heartfelt caption, a photo of community in action, or a raw moment of vulnerability can connect in ways polished marketing never could. For example, when I shared my personal struggles with exclusion and rediscovery, the responses reminded me how many of us are navigating similar journeys.

→ Writing for Activism
Activist writing should cut through noise like a blade. It doesn’t have to be long—it has to be real. Think of protest signs that say everything in three words: “End the Genocide.” or “Trans Rights Now.” It’s about urgency, clarity, and truth.

Today, our activism doesn’t exist in a vacuum. As queers, we see clearly how oppression connects across borders. The same systems that police our bodies and identities also fuel colonialism, capitalism, and war. The genocide in Gaza has shown this brutally: how power uses control of language and media to justify violence, to silence voices calling for justice, and to label truth-tellers as threats. The queer community knows that pain—our histories are full of erasure and vilification.

When I write about Gaza, I’m not writing about “a conflict.” I’m writing about humanity, about the right to exist and to speak. Colonialism isn’t over—it’s just rebranded through global capitalism and the algorithms that decide whose lives are visible. Every post, every caption, every story we share can either feed or challenge those systems.

We may not have their money or their media power, but we have something they fear: the moral edge. We can use communication—words, art, publications, connection—as a tool, even a weapon, to expose hypocrisy, amplify truth, and stand shoulder to shoulder with all who resist oppression. Our queerness gives us the creativity and resilience to tell these stories differently: with heart, honesty, and solidarity.

VISUALIZING Queerness: Photography and Design

If writing is the voice, then photography is the soul’s eyes. It reveals the deep emotions that words often fail to convey: the raw essence of presence, the profound layers of identity, and the intricate threads of love that bind us together.

When I take photographs, my intention isn’t to merely “represent” queerness—I truly document it through my lens with compassion. I capture the gentle moments, the bold expressions, the authentic lives, and the struggles faced. A couple sharing a tender moment in public, a drag performer carefully applying their nail polish, an older queer person walking hand-in-hand with their partner, a vibrant queer community gathering, and a passionate protest—these powerful images speak volumes. I strive to show what society often tries to conceal.

Visual communication also means design—posters, flyers, digital campaigns. Queer graphic design in Europe has always been bold, experimental, disruptive. From vibrant pride posters in Berlin to minimalist typography reclaiming space on corporate walls in Paris, our visuals defy categorization. Think of the pink triangle used during the AIDS crisis, or the recent trans flag displayed on historical landmarks in London—symbols that speak louder than any manifesto.

But let’s stay aware: most of the platforms we use—Instagram, Facebook, TikTok—are owned by corporations that profit from our data and sometimes silence our stories. They are not neutral. So let’s use them strategically: to spread truth, to build communities, and to redirect attention to our independent, self-owned spaces.

Queer Zines: Radical, Local, and Ours

Before social media, zines were the queer internet. Handwritten, photocopied, passed around in bars and bookstores—they were how we found each other. They still are.

Queer zines are raw, messy, and deeply personal. They’re not made to impress—they’re made to express. They carry the collective pulse of our community. I’ll be sharing more about how to make a queer zine for your community—covering everything from concept to collaboration—at the end of this Queer Communication series.

Tools, Budgets, and Queer Creativity

Let’s be real: most of us don’t have big budgets, sponsors, or PR teams. But that doesn’t mean we can’t communicate powerfully. Queer creativity thrives on resourcefulness—turning limitations into style, scarcity into innovation.

Writing tools like Google Docs, Notion, or Scrivener (free versions work fine) let you plan, collaborate, and polish texts easily. Grammarly and Hemingway can sharpen tone without killing your voice. For zines and manifestos, even a typewriter, Sharpie, or handwritten note carries raw truth no app can imitate.

Visual tools like Canva, Fotor, or Photopea (a free Photoshop alternative) are perfect for making posters, flyers, and graphics. For photography, use what you have—whether that’s a phone, a camera, or a friend’s borrowed gear—and let it show your creative force. What matters is not the device, but the intent, the eye, and the emotion behind each image.

Publishing tools like Substack, WordPress, or even Instagram (used wisely) can be our stages. But we must remember that not all platforms support queer voices equally. Algorithms suppress, policies “flag,” and some spaces simply aren’t built with us in mind. That’s why it’s vital to claim and protect our own spaces—to host our own sites, print our own words, and distribute them directly within our communities. Let’s use corporate platforms strategically, but never depend on them for our freedom.

Our creative power doesn’t depend on money—it depends on imagination, urgency, and courage. Queers have always made magic out of nothing, and that’s our superpower.

It’s all About Liberation

Writing, visualising, and publishing our queerness is not just about representation—it’s about liberation. It’s how we connect, resist, and redefine beauty, power, and belonging. We create the language and imagery of a freer world, one that sees us not as “other” but as essential.

I hope to start my Queer Communication masterclasses early next year—where we can explore these tools more deeply, together. That’s a great opportunity to share your words, your photos, your ideas—and build something that lasts, inspires, and speaks truth.

Get in touch

If you’d like to join the upcoming Queer Communication Masterclasses, contribute to the Queer Zine project, or share your own work, please get in touch or DM me on Instagram. Let’s create, resist, and communicate—together!