Androgynous Apathy

On Tuesday I returned from a few weeks spent over in the US, for many of you reading you’ll have spent time with me in joy and warmth. Truly, this second trip westward has been my favourite, photographically, artistically, really just overall lovely. And yet, I cannot talk about this journey of mine without the underlying absence of my existence as a trans woman. America is in turmoil right now, truly aren’t we all, but America in particular is running their regime in adversary to the very core of my existence: my womanhood. This tirade hung over every decision I made before travelling, to the clothes I packed, to the ones I bought specifically to hide my femininity, to the political expression I allowed myself online; America and my trip towards it governed my presentation whether I liked it or not.

And now having left the states back home to Australia, having sat in Montreal for a weekend to reminisce, I’ve left with two different thoughts that both contradict and exemplify each other. Androgyny is a funny disguise, innit? Don’t for a second think that in order to enter the United States that I detransitioned to hide myself away. I mean, on the plane ride there I did imagine what masculine name I could hide under, but when the only names I thought of were Achilles and Orpheus, did I really think I’d fool anyone? No, I always planned to bring Sapphire Lazuli, only that I thought to do so with the they to my she in a much larger font than usual. I bought pants before I left, chose each item of clothing in my suitcase with the mind that I’d remain in a vague liminality of gender and expression. I’d become something undefinable, hoping desperately that it’d be enough that the word transgender would not be able to harm me. I guess I didn’t expect to like it so much. Not the hiding, not the thinking so heavily about every action I took, not second guessing each use of the bathroom or mention of my name, no, what I didn’t expect to like so much was that exploration of my own gender. In being forced to diminish my femininity, I found an avenue to explore the non-binary side of my gender.

It’s been she/they for a long while now, though Sapphire began as they. I think there’s always been an underlying fear that to move too far from feminine, to take in any aspect of masculine or to lie somewhere in between that I’d invalidate my own transness, that the dysphoria would destroy me. This experience changed that. Allowed a new freedom that I’ve never been sure of how to unlock. There was no other choice, well, perhaps in NYC I might have been fine, but the fear of the opposite was restriction enough, and so without the choice of the feminine it removed the pressure of lying in my expression. There, androgyny became just a different aspect of Sapphire Lazuli rather than the false mask I had thought I’d be donning to hide away from transphobia and detainment. Of course, I cannot write that last sentence without admitting the pain. The fear. In that is the second thought that accompanied this newfound “freedom” of mine: the guilt. Because what an activist I am to sit here with all the privilege of a trans woman that can hide, to write on my blog about how America’s restrictions allowed me to find a new joy in expression. I was glad to leave that country despite all my love for it and the friends I have there, entering Montreal and at last donning a skirt, using women’s restrooms, living freely; there aren’t proper words to describe the enormous weight that lifted off my shoulders. I found a new kind of freedom in exploring America underneath their transphobic regime, but to say that that led me to only happiness would be a greater lie than that gender expression I’d once feared.

So now I return to Adelaide. I feel such sorrow for the trans folk of America, of the world. We are hurting so much as a people. This experience did much for me personally, but fuck if I’ll say that I couldn’t have found this elsewhere. I’ve remained quiet on politics online the past few months, my fear of what the United States would do to me in travelling, and my understanding of the lack of privilege I have as a trans woman of colour meant I favoured self preservation over outward expression. I’ve found other ways to express my political beliefs, to support where I can, even whilst there I spent much time recording a new video essay which speaks largely on the current state of the world. Now on the other end of it, I hope my voice might return much louder than before.

Stokercon Afterthoughts

I’d usually take to my journal and personal letters after an event such as this. Scribbling almost maniacally with my pink fountain pen and holding back tears so not to ruin the ink. And I’d sit in a park like I had last year, writing to those who touched close to my heart throughout the weekend, hoping that in some way I could string together the words to say how much I truly love them. But today I felt a different kind of awe. This grandiose elation in my chest, as though all day I’ve been unable to breathe deep enough to fill my lungs. Walking around Stamford today, drinking my coffee, looking through the hundreds of photographs I was so lucky to take, thinking back on the millions of tiny moments that are still making my head spin; the emotions I felt—am feeling right now—are this great sense of togetherness.

I can say now how nervous I was coming into Stokercon this year. Truthfully, I had almost cancelled my trip on numerous occasions and for numerous reasons—the more dreadful of which I’ll not divulge here—but the closer I got to the convention it just began to feel right. At least from my perspective, we’ve had a tumultuous year as a community, rough patches, loud noise, our online home of Twitter torn asunder, indie presses closing left right and centre, a dreadful lack of open calls and opportunity, and as such I’ve struggled a lot with feeling like we are a community. I’ve kept my distance. Others have too. And then early in the year I was met with the tragic news that Off Limits Press would be closing their doors only a month before my debut novella was due to release in July and, I think I drowned in that moment. All the small issues felt enormous. Uncertainty now tasted more of isolation. If you’ve read the manga, BLAME! there are these great structures that keep building themselves over and over, without much understanding of why. So, they end up with stairs that have no meaning, archways that lead nowhere; they become constructs without a purpose. I think maybe that’s how I’ve felt. Writing but not knowing why or where I’m going, just a broken typewriter that can’t stop clacking its keys, even if there’s no ribbon. It’s been a year that has asked me to give up numerous times. Damned if I say I haven’t gotten close.

But then that’s why we have these events, isn’t it? To remind ourselves why we write, why we love this torturous thing we call art. And that’s what I found at Stokercon this year, a reminder not just that I am an artist, but that my art is alive and well. For those of you who came up to me to say you’d watched my video essays or that you love my tiktok’s, for those who attended the Found Forms panel or my reading, know that that presence you gave me has stuck so deep into my soul. And the opportunity to talk about writing—about my art—with so many of you. Ugh. In my drowning, I stopped talking about writing and it hurt. Deeply. This was refreshing. I remember last year, I was in a panel and suddenly we hear shouting through the walls and someone goes “there goes Clay.” and my first thought was “that’s me next year, I’m going to read Our Witchless Flesh and that’s me next year.” Well wouldn’t you know it, after my reading I had people come up to me and say “I wasn’t in your reading, but I heard you through the wall and knew it had to be you.” Call it manifestation, call it working toward your dreams, no matter the label, I’m happier than I’ve been in a long while.

There are more personal thank you’s and moments that I’ll leave for individuals, but I will end by talking about the Stokers. Gods, didn’t you all look stunning!? I don’t think I’d realised how much I’d stepped back from photography until the Stokers rolled around; getting to photograph you all, getting to watch you all light up, dress up—it was the highlight of my whole con. That you all let me capture that beauty in human expression is a gift like absolutely none other, and though I currently have no plans to attend Stokercon 2026, my fervent need to be your photographer again is pulling me in the most manic of directions. If you’ve not seen the photos please do head over to my instagram and scroll through them all (@sapphicsapphire_lazuli)

Stokercon 2025 was gorgeous. A full ceremony of artistic togetherness that I can’t put into legible words how much it has healed me. I’ve had the best day thinking about you all. I’ll continue to have the best day thinking about, and sharing stories of my time spent here alongside you.

My unending love and gratitude,

Sapphire Lazuli