Deep in the strata of my sock drawer, there used to be a box containing a stack of patches a couple inches thick. All kinds: round, rectangular, triangular, embroidered, printed, thrifted, gifted. Some had been there for years, and in one case, decades, patiently waiting for me to 1) decide what to attach them to and 2) learn to sew—which I finally did around this time last year. I followed along with a ten-minute long tutorial on Youtube by an alternative music fan. It was exactly the kind of how-to video I love to see: straightforward instructions, minimal editing, video quality that’s only okay. No frills, artifice or brand endorsements. Just the un-manicured hands of some punk attaching band patches onto a denim jacket by lamplight, whose offscreen voice cheerfully recommends sewing with dental floss in a pinch and not worrying if you poke yourself with the needle because leaving a little blood on the sleeve is “pretty metal actually”. This video has since been taken down, sadly. But I salute her: she’s the reason the patches have made it out of the box and onto my jacket at last. To celebrate, I thought I’d share a little bit about what some of them mean to me.
Let’s take it from the top. Here we have a shachi-san, an iconic symbol of Nagoya, my partner’s hometown in Japan. As a sewing novice, I’m particularly proud of this one because the golden carp’s odd shape, compact size and dense threads made it a challenge. Since the shachihoko of Nagoya Castle perch at the highest point of the tower, it seemed appropriate to put their tiny embroidered cousin on a sort of peak, too: the collar.
On the left arm of the jacket, I’ve grouped a couple of nostalgic, primary-colored patches. The “Leathers & Co.” banner patch (from the same T.S.L. x BK workshop where I had a leather pocket sewn into my journal) is fairly recent. But directly below it is the oldest patch by far. Everyone in my public middle school band class got one of these bad boys after we took a trip across the country to perform in a music festival in New York. Was it a competition? Did we win? No idea. There’s so much I’ve forgotten, but looking at this patch brings back other details vividly: creaky black metal stands, the shuffle of sheet music*. The gaudy gold-and-black-swirled vests and bowties we complained about but nevertheless wore over pleated white shirts for concerts. Sparkles of white, brass and silver as everyone lifted their instruments into position. And my band teacher, an Air Force retiree unflappable in the face of all our pre-teen razzing, who had both disciplined and won us over enough to know we’d all pipe down and get serious the moment he lifted his hands for the music to start.
Moving to the right arm, I’ve started a more black-and-white-themed sleeve with an extremely relatable (to me) “DRINK COFFEE AND DESTROY” fabric scrap I found at the local flea market and an Ace Hotel Los Angeles patch, which, despite the name, I picked up on a recent visit to Ace Hotel Kyoto. The actual patch for that location is on the opposite cuff, to go with the other triangular patch on that sleeve. The hotel patches are the most recent additions, and have probably the neatest stitches so far.
Last but not least, the very first patch I sewed onto this jacket: “Revolutionary Optimism 2022”. This was a surprise, gift and honor. In the fall of 2022, I completed a public arts project with the San Francisco Arts Commission, turning local poets’ work into comics to be displayed in the bus kiosks along Market Street. One of the poets was Pat Parker (1944-1989), a lesbian and feminist writer-activist. Not long after the comic posters went up, Parker’s editor, Julie R. Enszer got in contact with me, happy to see her late colleague's work recognized. At some point she must have learned I had done my research with books borrowed from the library. Later, in the mail, I would find a package from her containing the hardcover of Parker’s Complete Works, some other literature, a letter from one of Parker’s surviving partners, and this patch. I sewed it over the jacket pocket. (Twice, actually; I made the rookie mistake of stitching the pocket shut). My hands get cold easily, but when I tuck one in here, I feel the warmth, toughness and generosity of those who came before me in the LGBTQ+ community, my elders, whose lives and work made it possible for me to live as I do now.
This beginner patching project has been a refreshing experience during these rather prolonged dark days. I felt liberated from the pressure to produce something beautiful or noteworthy or saleable. I learned to thread the needle in a way that made it pretty easy to undo mistakes, and therefore make them without fear. I blasted music on my headphones and fell into the rhythm of stitching. The constant ticking of my mind slowed and evened out. In that quiet, I thought a lot about the phrase “hanging by a thread”. We use this to describe something that is about to fall apart, come undone. But, like…isn’t a thread actually insanely strong?? In the lost video, my unseen mentor shows how to double up a length of string, to twist the strands together, making it durable enough to journey in and out of rough fabric over and over without breaking. Obviously, cloth isn’t invincible. One could rip all these patches off if they really tried. Still, it interests me how a single strand can keep so much together. I suppose it’s both the strength and the vulnerability that’s the point. It doesn’t need to be strong forever, it’s enough for it to hold on as long as it can.
The writers, the fighters, the teachers, the memories of friends and family and the places that remain meaningful to us, the songs I doubt I could play now, but still remember—I take solace and strength from all of these as I stitch them, however clumsily, into a jacket slightly too big for me, a jacket I’ll wear into battle anyway, no doubt.
___
* “Accolada” by Ed Huckeby.
Text and photos by: A.C. Esguerra
Where to find A.C. : instagram @blueludebar
Read other stories by A.C. : Here
Bk Artifacts Featured:
[Asilda Patch] Shape the Future
Bk Truly Yours Customization
0 comments