Ask about an activist, and sometimes all you’ll hear is they’re too mainstream, too liberal, too vocal, too aggressive, just another feminist, just another phase. It’s said with an inflection that seems to undermine the history, personal stories, emotions, struggles and successes accompanying the word.

The reality is that some of us have activist in our blood. Rowan Blanchard, the Girl Meets World star praised for her outspokenness on social media, sparked this realization for me. She chose to take a step back from the label, deconstruct its meaning and ask, “Who gets to decide to be an activist, and who just has to be one because they’re forced to fight?”


It’s a startling realization; that some activists choose that identity, while others have had no say in the matter at all—and must carry it anyway.  


I didn’t ask to be given the life and identity of a queer, biracial individual. It just happened. Bit-by-bit, pieces of myself materialized into being without notice or warning. In those moments, I had nothing to lean on or guide me—no t.v. characters with which to identify, no stories of people who had been there before. I felt alone. 


Only when I moved to a small town in Texas and found myself to be the only one with a complexion tanner than creamy beige did I even realize I was a person of color. Then there was the time I was called the f-slur in middle school in between classes, shouted by a boy I had hardly interacted with before. And there were more moments like it, where life felt cruel and where a fair future felt impossible. 


It wasn’t until later that I fought, not because I wanted to, but because it dawned on me that if I wanted to see my future change, I couldn’t sit still any longer. At first I advocated for myself. I was the only person I knew how to care for, whose needs I could identify. And then I grew. 


When I began speaking up for my communities, attending events and creating relationships with those who shared similar identities, I found we were all fighting uphill battles for the same reason: striving to claim rights other people take for granted. But we were doing it in silo, without unifying, without knowing each other’s stories, and we were failing because of it. German Lutheran pastor, Martin Niemöller, wrote a poem that we all remember reading—

My identity is rooted in activism because there are parts of me that could not have it any other way: I am queer. I am a person of color. There are people in this country to which both of these things is an invitation to violence, to hate, to commodification. If I am to live the life that I am owed as a human being with dignity—I have no choice but to be an activist. 

Yet, I also choose to be an activist. The Black Lives Matter, Trans Lives Matter, Defend DACA, End Family Separation movements and more—I fight with them proudly and defiantly. Not because their stories are the same as mine, but because our movements collide and become one fight towards universal equality and social justice.

You’ve probably noticed we’ve done a lot of talking the last few weeks—this is blog seven in our series on activism, but we’re really just trying to unearth a good, thoughtful conversation so that we can better understand how people relate to the term and what activates them. We’re still learning how to be the best version of ourselves in this space, and we question that on a daily basis. Let us know what we could be doing better. 

At this point, we only have a few posts left. We will continue watching the activist space—listening to you tell your stories, because from an activist who lives in both worlds, I can tell you that listening without judgement is sometimes the most powerful thing we can do.

Activism as Identity

Condensed

We live in a high culture of customization—our diets, hair color, movie recommendations, travel experiences. There is very little that we cannot mold into a version of what we desire. 

On the surface, there is pleasure in being able to fine tune the life you lead, using technology and personalized services to pay attention to nuances and little details that bring you bursts of joy. On a deeper level, having the power of choice can help you tackle the unique challenges and needs that your life presents through medical issues, allergies, religious and other critical lifestyle choices.

Fashion is an obvious extension of that frothier customization; today we turn our focus on the sneakerhead culture that has transformed footwear into a $17.5 billion dollar business. For sneaker fans, what they wear on their feet reflects their mood, their background, their aspirations, their taste and their outlook on life.

Whether it’s scoring a classic pair of sneakers that speaks to your childhood or scoring one-of-a-kind custom-built kicks that take perfectly wonderful shoes to a level that (literally) no one else on the planet ever will rise to:

The Miami Vice AJ1. An MTO handcrafted with white and pink crocodile leather as well as turquoise and black python. Lined with Japanese plonge leather liner.  Inspired by the vibrancy of Miami.

Or a 2-dimensional take on footwear that make you feel like you’re living in a comic book:

@levis x @jumpman23 IV . I’ll be dropping these somewhere in Paris . You find em you keep em . Stay tuned ✌🏽

But today isn’t just about eye candy (feet candy?), it’s also about a very specific example of customization that doesn’t just add flair to someone’s wardrobe but gives the power of choice back to those who find themselves living in a world that might feel completely out of their control: the Doernbecher Freestyle Collection by Nike.

Each year for the past 15 years, Nike selects six patients from Portland’s Doernbecher Hospital to envision and design (from sole to shoelace) their own sneaker to reflect their story and life experience. The process itself is incredible, as these young patients go through an intensive personal discovery process and work (for months!) with Nike designers to build a customized shoe to be sold around the world.

Proceeds from the Doernbecher Freestyle Collection have generated over $24 million for the hospital, but the experience and feeling of empowerment these kids feel in sharing their personal experiences through an incredibly customized output is even more breathtaking. Patients weave in personal symbolism into their designs: their parents’ genetic codes, heart transplant dates, favorite animals and sports teams.

The creative process becomes its own form of care and wellness.

Customization isn’t just about shoes, iPhone settings and restaurant menu items. It’s about owning your narrative, taking control of what you can and living your life out loud. And if your feet look great while doing it, more power to you. 

We live in a high culture of customization—our diets, hair color, movie recommendations, travel experiences.

Customize this