In the blur of deadlines across campus buildings, fashion speaks when words fall short. As an avenue of self expression, the smallest accessory—a carabiner, Vertigo pin, Clairo shirt or tote bag can be a coded indicator of solidarity and both loud or quiet activism. Fashion creates community for those who see it.
From the fashion runways of Autumn/Winter 2025 to the main stage at Coachella, fashion throughout history has proven itself as a key factor in fighting against the exclusion of LGBTQIA+ people. Fashion is about more than aesthetics; it is about igniting conversations and compassion through the vessel of pop culture, on world stages that can’t be ignored.
His heartbeat thunders in his ears. The roar of a crowd one hundred thousand strong pulses through his chest like a second heartbeat. Adrenaline rushes through his veins. Blinding lights flash behind him in time with the bass as he steps onstage, strutting down the catwalk. Curling around his ear, Dua Lipa’s voice whispers seductively in French, though even that is drowned by the tidal wave of sound around him. Behind his shades, one hand gripping the mic, in block letters his shirt reads: “PROTECT THE DOLLS.”
Whether at Troye Sivan’s surprise appearance at Charli XCX’s Coachella set or Pedro Pascal’s 50th birthday bash, Connor Ives’ “Protect the Dolls” tee has transcended the realm of merch. It's a statement sweeping across music and fashion, cutting through the noise of consumption, capital and social media with purpose–and as a University student, you can feel those ripples on campus.
London-based designer Conner Ives made waves at his latest Fall/Winter 25 show, debuting the now famous ‘Protect the Dolls’ shirt. In an interview with Vogue, Ives admitted that he had originally intended to keep fashion and politics separate, but in the past six months “that level of compartmentalisation just didn’t really feel relevant anymore.” Drawing from personal experiences and working closely with trans models, Ives created not just a collection, but a message—one of empathy and urgency for young people everywhere being affected by the encroachment of rights and assault on personal identity. And for queer students, it was a reckoning.
In early May, the UK Supreme Court redefined the legal meaning of ‘woman’ under the Equality Act 2010. The ruling unanimously declared that transgender women, even those with a Gender Recognition Certificate, are no longer legally considered women for the purposes of accessing single-sex spaces such as bathrooms and hospital wards. The Equality and Human Rights Commission has threatened legal action against the NHS unless it revokes policies that currently support trans people being accommodated according to their gender identity.
Across the pond, over in the US, the Trump administration is unleashing a wave of anti-trans legislation. An executive order titled “Defending Women From Gender Ideology Extremism and Restoring Biological Truth to the Federal Government” has dismantled years of progress. Trans people can now only receive passports that reflect their birth sex. The ‘X’ marker, a lifeline for many non-binary individuals, has been scrapped.
Where queer identity is debated in tutorials and lived out in lecture halls, conversations naturally echo these global shifts. What’s happening overseas doesn’t stay overseas, but instead bleeds into the very fabric of our campus life. The queer community both at UTS and beyond has long been the living and breathing heartbeat of the fashion, art, music and pop culture industries. In addition to their creative influence, queer communities provide joy and safety by creating pockets of belonging and support here on campus, which makes this such a pivotal moment. This is seen in societies such as Fashion Ethics Sustainability Society (FESS) and UTS Darlings, which both provide queer students with an avenue for self expression and community.
Speaking to Siobhan Killen, Co-president of FESS, she believes fashion and queerness to be inextricably linked, as “part of your personal identity is how you express it. The ability to do so as a queer person often requires a journey of self-discovery and confidence, as well as a safety within your environment.” Upcycling, thrifting and making clothes yourself, as Siobhan does, “gives you the opportunity to construct an image of yourself outside of the mass-market aesthetics of fast fashion”, where fashion can be “a playground for endless experimentation.”
Consequently, fashion acts as solidarity with our brothers and sisters whose livelihoods are threatened by backwards legislation. Fashion remembers that they paved the way for us to be able to express ourselves freely. Fashion is memory. Fashion is resistance. And most importantly—fashion is power.
Willy Chavarria echoed this sentiment in his Fall/Winter 2025 show. Adorned on his shirt was the powerful message, ‘How we Love is Who We Are.’ Chavarria was able to blend the roots of his Chiccano upbringing and heritage with a powerful political message, empowering viewers to lead with compassion and stay steadfast in their unique identities, in a time when they are ‘under attack’. As his Paris show came to a close, a recording of Episcopal Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde’s sermon to Donald Trump, urging the US President to “have mercy” on immigrants and LGBTQIA+ people, played. Moreover, to do as Chavarria does, and play on a world stage while making a point of employing queer, trans, and people of colour as models is deeply comforting and inspiring for the future creatives studying here at UTS, posing as a reminder that there is room for everyone in the industry, and a conscious effort that inclusivity and diversity is always needed.
The key takeaway from Chavarria’s show is “we need to use fashion to make sure we don’t forget what is really important—how we love and take care of each other is all that really matters”. The point wasn’t perfection, or even beauty. It was memory. It was refusal. Whether it’s on a Paris runway or in the Tower Building: fashion is a series of choices we make everyday. We dress ourselves to be seen, to be celebrated, to speak out, and to protect.
Against the backdrop of looming threats to the lives and livelihoods of the LGBTQIA+ community, the necessity of community, and the urgency of showing up for one another in times of need shows itself. A light in the dark, a beacon of protest against invalidation and danger. In my bedroom, a Turkish mosaic lamp—one of my most treasured possessions—casts its glow across the wall in fractured colour: purples, greens, oranges, blues. It’s a quiet archive of where I’ve been, a testament to craftsmanship and care, to the hands that made it and the journeys still ahead. To extinguish that light, with all its history and meaning, would not only be a tragedy—it would be nearly impossible. Even when darkness hovers at the edges, trying to creep in, the Technicolour of this world resists.
You can’t simply yank the plug. The power is still on, the globe hasn’t burned out, and colour always finds a way to bleed through.
Through fashion, through art, through music—even when I sit at the Alumni Green before class—there is always conversation. Loudly, unapologetically, fearlessly.
And where there is conversation, there is always resistance.
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